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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920270">The Wizard of Witley Court</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvinaNightshade/pseuds/CorvinaNightshade'>CorvinaNightshade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hogwarts: Class of '96 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Bottoming from the Top, Brooding, Canon Era, Daddy Issues, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Feel-good, Ghosts, Light Angst, Love Stories, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Plot, Post-Canon, Quidditch, Ravenclaw, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Sexual Tension, Side Story, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snatchers (Harry Potter), Strong Female Characters, Topping from the Bottom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:21:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>48,084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvinaNightshade/pseuds/CorvinaNightshade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frida Addams, a young muggle woman whose life is tightly knit with the Wizarding World, comes to Witley Court on an errand for her best friend, Andrea Clearwater. Little did she know, Witley Court was the home of Roger Davies, a wealthy professional Quidditch player for the Tutshill Tornados and Andrea's guy friend whom Frida had previously marked as her sworn enemy.  Tensions rise as Frida is stranded at his opulent family manor, hiding from Snatchers who would see her destroyed for connection to the Wizarding World, with the one person that she longed to avoid.</p><p>This story branches from Hogwarts: A Clearwater Perspective, occurring between the last chapter and the epilogue chronologically. There are characters in this story from the previous work in the series, so to better understand The Wizard of Witley Court you may wish to read the previous work first, but the story is stand alone and can easily be read separately.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roger Davies/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hogwarts: Class of '96 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Harry Potter OC Fanfiction, Oc Centric Fics, harry potter oc</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Manor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmt015/gifts">cmt015</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! I will be editing the chapters for grammar/spelling once the work is complete, so please bear with me! Thank you!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“But Frida,” whined James, a ferrety boy of about thirteen, as he jumped down from a large boulder onto the springy earthen path on which they were walking. “How come I always get stuck with the rubbish jobs?! You just want all the fun parts for yourself!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many times do I have to explain this to you?” said Frida, as she marched up the path from the dense woods to the meadow ahead, rolling her eyes to prevent herself from calling her brother an idiot or something of the like.  “You aren’t allowed to touch the animals. Many of them are dangerous and Mr. Novák says only adults can groom the thestrals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a child anymore!” groused James, lobbing a rock at a nearby tree as they passed.  </span>
</p><p><span>“Well you aren’t</span> <span>a </span><em><span>man</span></em><span> either, are you?” said Frida bitingly, quickening her pace as she neared the end of the path and emerged into a dancing field of oatgrass that shimmered like gold in the late-July sunset. “It’s done! Stop complaining – just scrape the manure off of your boots and forget about it. Why don’t you ask Dad if you can take a ride on Shelly? We’ve still got a little time until the sun goes down, and I’d rather spend it relaxing than listening to your griping.” </span></p><p>
  <span>“Fine – but don’t ever let me hear you saying that I’m ‘not a man’ again, or else I might be tempted to put a cow patty under your pillow,” said James before giving her a nasty look and running through the windy field ahead of her towards the Novák’s country cottage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was not disturbed at all by James’s threats – he knew well enough that her retribution wouldn’t make a prank like that feel worth his while, so she took her time, basking in the field’s sweet summer breeze as she slowly made her way back to the cottage for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Novák’s were her godfather’s in-laws, and they had been kind enough to give Frida’s family refuge at their cottage-ranch after recent circumstances made it impossible for them to continue living in London. In fact, her godfather, Robert Clearwater, and his wife were also staying with the Novák’s for similar reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbeknown to even their closest neighbors, some ten miles away, the Novák’s and the Clearwater’s had a secret, and this secret was the main reason that Frida had to leave her job as a hairstylist and quit to the country without notifying any of her friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Novák’s and the Clearwater’s were </span>
  <em>
    <span>wizards</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Real wizards with magic wands, broomsticks, cauldrons, and had to answer to an entire government which administered their kind. Most people would have a hard time believing these things, but Frida was used to it. Her godfather was not actually a wizard, he was just married to a witch, but Frida’s dad and Robert had been friends since childhood, so by the time Frida was born over twenty years ago, her family had already been accepted by the wizarding government as Ministry- approved “Muggle’s” (as they called normal people). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida had grown up alongside Andrea, Robert’s daughter and Frida’s very best friend, so Frida was just about as familiar with the wizarding world as she was the world outside; in fact, Frida had spent so much time in Diagon Alley (a wizarding part of London where Andrea lived) that she sometimes forgot about the normal world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, not everyone appreciated Frida’s presence in their secret world of magic. About a year and a half ago, Frida’s dad, Pat, was brutally assaulted and tortured by a group of wizards that hated people who were not born with magical abilities. He had nearly died and had suffered considerable emotional trauma, but it had not been enough to send her family fleeing from their London home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost half-a-year past his attack, the leader of the anti-muggle movement (called You-Know-Who amongst wizards) had shown up in the Ministry of Magic building after the Ministry had claimed numerous times that there could be no way that You-Know-Who had returned from the dead to terrorize muggles and wizards alike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the turning point for Frida’s parents, and at the insistence of her godparents, Robert and Radhika, they had decided to go into hiding at Radhika’s parent’s home in the country. Without a word to anyone outside the family, Frida and her family moved North-West to the Novák’s little cottage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida had worried that it would be cramped living with eight people in a modest cottage, but Frida was pleasantly surprised to find that the cottage was much larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside – one of the many benefits of rubbing shoulders with wizards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her overall experience the last year or so had been mainly pleasant; the Novák’s had many acres for Frida to roam, and she quite liked her job tending to Mr. Novák’s horses and other magical equine beasts that he bred for a living. There was even a muggle pub within walking distance of the main road if Frida ever got sick of seeing no one but her family (which happened relatively frequently, in fact). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrea did drop by now and then, but her visits were never long, as she was running her parent’s tea shop in London between carrying out clandestine missions for one of her old professors and spending time with her boyfriend, George. Frida could hardly blame her for wanting to stay in London. In fact, it had been a while since Frida had met anyone worth hooking up with, so she couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous when she imagined Andrea keeping busy with living the city life that Frida so loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meadow and nearby paddocks were growing dark, so Frida decided it was time to re-join her old people in the cottage. Her mom probably would want some help setting up for dinner – even though Radhika could probably do it in less than ten seconds with a flick of her wand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida rounded an outcrop of trees and started down the crackly slate path that lead from the meadow to the cottage. The Novák’s cottage looked like it had come straight out of a fairy tale; it had a fluffy thatched roof and white walls where roses from the garden climbed, framing its latticed windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida opened the creaky wooden gate and strode through the garden towards the back porch, booting off a garden gnome that pounced out at her from behind a little bush along the way.  Just ahead, Frida spotted her father, Robert, and Mr. Novák sitting together on a couple benches on the front porch swirling whiskey in their glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Novák was smoking a thick cigar and watching Frida kindly as she approached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, sweetheart,” said Mr. Novák in his rich, gravelly timbre. “I hope you aren’t too tired for a nip of whiskey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” said Frida with a grin, accepting a tumbler from Robert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert was just telling us that my granddaughter isn’t coming this weekend after all,” said Mr. Novák, taking a sip from his tumbler. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andrea cancelled?” asked Frida, taking a seat next to her dad across from Robert and Mr. Novák. Frida had been looking forward to some social time with someone her own age. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minerva McGonagall has an important project for her, but Andrea couldn’t say what,” said Robert, glancing over his shoulder through the kitchen window, as if to check to see if his wife was nearby. “Radhika worries, but she can hold her own. I couldn’t be prouder.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should be,” said Frida’s dad, Pat. “She’s running your family business on top of everything else. It’s too bad she’s all alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not alone,” said Frida, taking another sip of her scotch. “She’s got George Weasley. I don’t even think he sleeps in his flat anymore, he’s always over there with her. She hardly lets him sleep with – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>, alright!” said Robert, holding up his hand and shaking his head as if his whiskey had soured. “I’ve heard enough of that, I think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Robert,” laughed Frida, and tried to feel at least a little sorry for forgetting to hold her tongue again.  Frida kicked her legs onto her dad’s lap and leaned her back against a beam. As pleasant as it was to spend the evening drinking whiskey among the fireflies and chirping crickets, Frida couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that would only continue to feel trapped if she couldn’t get out once in a while, or at least have social calls with Andrea. It had been hard enough disappearing off the face of the planet, but part of her had gotten some melodramatic, angsty pleasure at the notion of pretending not to exist. Instead, the days were blurring together, and her trips to the pub weren’t enough to quell her need for a change of scenery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been tuning out the men’s conversation for a little while as she was lost in her own thoughts, but something Mr. Novák said caught her attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve got to deliver a couple of foal thestrals to Hogwarts, but Daisy and Eva are at the right age now and I’ve got someone who wants them the same day as the Hogwarts delivery. I’m sorry to part with them, but I’m afraid I had to close the deal. The only problem is I’m going to need one of you boys to deliver Daisy and Eva, if you can. Winged Abraxen are easier to transport than thestrals so it shouldn’t too much of a – ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do it!” said Frida before Robert or her father could agree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pat and Robert exchanged a look while Mr. Novák surveyed her from under the brim of his hat, his age-lined face shifting as he raised his wiry grey eyebrows in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” chuckled Mr. Novák, blowing out a large puff of bright purple smoke from his wizard cigar. “Have you had enough of the Granian horses, then? Or perhaps you wish to evade trimming the hippogriffs’ hooves next Wednesday?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Respectfully, Mr. Novák,” said Frida, leaning forward so he could see how serious she was, “It definitely isn’t either of those reasons. I just want to get out and about – don’t get me wrong! I love it here, but I’d like to do something different for once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mum won’t like it,” said Pat, raising an eyebrow at her. “You are aware of that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” said Frida as patiently as she could, “But Andrea goes out all the time! On </span>
  <em>
    <span>missions</span>
  </em>
  <span> no less! I’ve been out of school longer than she has, so I – ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andrea is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>witch</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” said Pat sternly. “You are not. We are in hiding for a reason, Frida.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Dad?” huffed Frida, “No one knows we’re here right? The only neighbors are muggles and the Novák’s aren’t even on the Floo Network! You and Robert are muggles too – what difference does it make if I go versus one of you? Is it because I’m a woman?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no…” said Pat, glancing around uncomfortably at Robert as if he were looking for backup. Robert simply smiled and chuckled to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think, Robert?” asked Frida, hoping that her godfather at least would take her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you are a grown woman, and what you said is true…” said Robert. “I suppose the only that can really have the say so is Mr. Novák here. We can’t stop you, can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just see what the wives have to say first, can’t we?” said Pat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As frustrating as Frida found her father’s hesitations, she did understand his anxiety, at letting his daughter out of his sight, after what had happened to him in Knockturn Alley over a year ago. Still, Frida had hoped that Mr. Novák would have given some sign that he had agreed to her proposition, but he remained silently puffing away at his cigar until they were called in for dinner by Helena, Frida’s mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida helped Radhika clear the round, wooden kitchen table of the large vases of lavender, sage, and rosemary and trays of baked snacks that usually sat there during the day, and they had the table set just in time for Mrs. Novák (or Grandma Fari as Frida liked to call her) to place a large cauldron of bubbling curry and a bowl of rice right in the middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they all ate Frida waited for her father to mention her proposal, but by the time Grandma Fari summoned pudding with an elegant flick of her wand, the subject still had not been broached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Dad,” said Frida pointedly, just as Pat had dipped his spoon into his pudding, “Didn’t you say there was something that you wanted to run by ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>the wives’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, can’t it wait? I’d like to have more time to think on it myself,” said Pat, his green eyes flicking from Helena to Frida and then fell to rest on Mr. Novák nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there isn’t much time to think about it since it’s happening next week, and really I shouldn’t need anyone’s permission, but Mr. Novák’s anyways so – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>, now I’d very much like to know that you lot are talking about,” said Helena, raising a dark eyebrow at Pat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida hurriedly explained the situation to her mother, Radhika and Grandma Fari, careful not to sound too impatient.  After she had finished the three women looked at each other curiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>think she’s just trying to get out of her chores!” James piped in, squinting devilishly at her from across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stuff</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, James,” hissed Frida, before turning back to her mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know Frida,” said Helena heavily, “I would like to keep the family together as much as possible. I couldn’t bear it if you went missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I go missing?” asked Frida. “Anyway, either Dad or Robert is going to have to go, so I don’t see why I’m any worse of an option. If I could survive walking around London on my own I don’t see why I couldn’t manage a </span>
  <em>
    <span>day </span>
  </em>
  <span>on my own in the country! Mr. Novák said the house is a good three hours from the city!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give the girl some space, Helena,” said Radhika with a twinkle in her eye, “I know the family that the Abraxen are going to. They’re a nice family, and it will give Frida a chance to have some of her independence back. I know how my daughter gets if I hover over her too much. They can’t stay babies forever. That’s not to say that you and Andrea aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>babies still, Frida.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree,” said Grandma Fari, staring knowingly at Frida with her piercing amber-green eyes. “I understand very well the need to stay on the move. Now that I am older, I have lost much of that need, but the young heart seeks exploration. It has been a long time since Frida has been able to do so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida glanced at Robert, who was diplomatically silent as usual, then to her father. He scratched his blonde head in obvious disquiet, but he seemed to be outnumbered and more resigned to Frida’s plans. This was her chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Novák,” said Frida calmly, though her knee was bouncing with anticipation. “Can I do the delivery for you, then? I’ll be good, I promise.” Frida smiled playfully at the old man. She had grown especially fond of him the past year or so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Mr. Novák threw his head back and let out a throaty chortle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t stop you, my dear,” he said, leaning across the table and reached with his strong, age-spotted hand to take Frida’s. “I can see that you are quite determined to have your way, and I’m sure you can handle the task after working for me for so long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent!” beamed Frida, “We can talk details after desert!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida went to bed that night feeling wholly triumphant. So it was decided; in no less than five days she would fly the Abraxen to someplace in Worcestershire called Witley Court, then take the train back to the Nováks’ cottage. The journey itself would probably only last a full day (most of the time spent on the return journey), but Frida planned on stopping at an inn somewhere and turning her trip into a mini holiday. Frida thought that one night away from the cottage should be enough to somewhat recharge her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the day to leave finally arrived, Frida packed herself a little rucksack with snacks and extra clothes for the journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need that for?” asked Helena, looking at Frida and her rucksack over her morning tea as Frida entered the candle-filled kitchen. It was not yet dawn, but the table had been laden with a hearty morning spread. “I thought you would be back by tonight?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if I was to come back tonight, I wouldn’t arrive until well after supper,” said Frida, snatching up a muffin and digging in, eager to get on her way as soon as possible. “I thought I’d stop and stay at a pub in Leeds for the night, then catch a train to Newcastle upon Tyne and a bus from there to Otterburn. After that it’s just a short cab ride back here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida…” sighed Helena, looking both worried and exasperated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Mum,” said Frida, hugging her and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be safe – promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, then,” said Helena, hugging Frida back snugly. Frida could feel her mother’s ribs beneath her jumper. Helena was getting too thin, and it was no wonder considering that she had never eaten properly since Pat’s attack. “Mr. Novák is waiting for you in the paddock. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you, darling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you, Mum,” said Frida, grabbing another muffin and hurrying out into the cool, dewy garden towards the Abraxon paddock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida crunched through the dim path through the woods as quickly as her feet would take her. For the first time in over a year, she would finally have a bit of freedom. Frida made good time, though the paddock was a decent ten minute walk from the house, as she had walked this path more times than she could count.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida climbed over the paddock fence and jogged over to where she could make out the shadows of two massive winged horses and of Mr. Novák standing by the water trough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Novák!” called Frida through the thick morning air, “I’m here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful,” said Mr. Novák, patting Frida on the shoulder as she approached him. “Are you ready? Good, good. Now, as you know, all you need to do is tell the horses where you need to go, and they will take you there. Travelling great distances is a little different from taking a turn above the pasture; they will fly quite high, and the air becomes quite cold. The journey will be fast – no more than an hour or so. Do you have a jacket? Excellent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida climbed up a set of steps onto Daisy’s back. Winged Abraxen were about four times the size of regular horses and, of course, had massive wings proportional to their monstrous size. Frida fastened herself between the beast’s wings with an enchanted cord that Mr. Novák had strapped so that Frida did not fall off during flight. Daisy was so wide that Frida’s legs couldn’t even hang off of the sides – it felt more like sitting atop a turbulent sofa.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Mr. Novák,” said Frida, nudging Daisy forward with a small push on her wing joints. “I’m grateful to get out and about! See you soon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have any questions?” asked Mr. Novák, as Frida’s horse started a slow trot down the middle of the paddock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope!” said Frida, “I’ve got it! Daisy, Eva! Take us to Witley Court!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a final wave over her shoulder, Frida held tightly to the enchanted cord fastened over her lap as Daisy broke into a gallop and began flapping her powerful, feathered wings. Frida’s stomach lurched as they rose from the grounds, which were steadily growing lighter as dawn approached, into the sky and through the low clouds above. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Novák had been right; it was cold and windy above the clouds. Frida was soon grateful that the trip would be short, as the chill of the icy wind pierced through her jacket and the golden sun that streaked the bed of fluffy clouds below her did little to warm her up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still though, Frida felt glad to break her usual routine, even if it was painfully uncomfortable. After a few minutes of freezing her eyeballs as she gazed out over the sea of endless clouds, Frida decided to close her eyes and bury her face in her gloved hands for the rest of the trip – which felt way longer than an hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida finally pulled her face from her hands as she felt the massive horse begin her descent. The air was instantly warmer as they broke through the layer of clouds, though she was now soaked from passing through them, and soared downwards over a great, dark green lake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida gaped in amazement at the grounds that were before her; past the lake, there was a thick line of forest which separated the lake from a vast emerald lawn. In the middle of the lawn stood an ornate statue fountain and beyond that was the most magnificent house that Frida had ever seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida didn’t think it should be allowed to be called a house – to her it looked more like a castle! It had lofty stone pillars and archways, and seemed to have a hundred windows gazing out over the landscape like a great stone spider. How far back the building went, Frida could not tell, but she suddenly knew that she would have to find a way to get a tour of this brilliant palace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a jolt, Frida touched down on the grass just passed the fountain, and Daisy and Eva trotted to a halt. Shivering as she was, Frida managed to untie herself from the cord, and looked around for a place to jump off. She hadn’t considered that there wouldn’t be stairs for her when she arrived, so there was nothing to do but jump off. It would certainly hurt, as the top of Daisy’s back was nearly as high as the cottage awning, but there was no one in sight to help her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Careful to tuck in her chin, Frida leapt from Daisy’s enormous back onto the grass and ended up rolling several feet across the lawn, coating her in grass bits. She already looked like a wet mess, so Frida figured a little grass wouldn’t make a difference, but after gazing up at the breath-taking estate before her, she decided to brush herself off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida stood in silence for a minute or so, thinking that whoever was expecting her would have seen her touch down, but no one came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” called Frida, taking Daisy and Eva by their leads, and walking along the side of the manor in search of people – or at least to find the stables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked past a row of neatly trimmed rose bush hedges until she rounded the corner of the mansion and stood before an ornate flower garden, complete with maze-like paths of bushes that created geometric designs amongst the petunias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You there,” called a man’s voice from somewhere nearby. Frida looked around her but could not find the speaker. “Up here!” it called again, as Frida turned to find a young man, with short, untidy, dark hair descending from the sky riding a broomstick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hi,” said Frida, as the handsome young man touched down and strode towards her wearing what she recognized as Quidditch gear. “I’m here to drop off these ladies – where are your stables?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By Merlin,” said the man, as he approached her. “You’re soaked! Why haven’t you dried yourself off?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I haven’t got a towel – I’ll dry off once I find the stables,” said Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just use your </span>
  <em>
    <span>wand</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” said the young man, raising an eyebrow at her with an appraising grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a muggle, I haven’t got a wand,” said Frida flatly. “You did call for these Winged Abraxen haven’t you? Or have I got the wrong address?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to worry,” said the young man, stepping closer and pulling out his wand and waving it at her. She was instantly warm and dry once more, which considerably boosted her mood – enough to even take a moment to assess this young stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tall with a medium, broad build, striking blue eyes, a pretty face, and a nice smile. Frida looked him up and down once, not bothering to care if he noticed or not, and decided that he looked quite good in his sweat-drenched Quidditch gear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you could stand to dry off as well,” said Frida with a cheeky smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ve got a bit more practicing to do before I finish,” said the man, “Care to watch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, thanks. Like I said, I need to find the stables or someone who can take these horses there,” said Frida for the millionth  time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right,” he said, looking around as if he expected a servant to magically appear for him. “I suppose I can show you there myself, then you should probably talk to my parents considering that they are the ones who ordered the beasts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida walked with the man for about five minutes until they arrived at the stables where a short, hairy wizard took the horses to their enormous and luxurious stalls to tend to them. By the time they were back at the front doors of the lavish manor, Frida had determined that this young man was both charming and very full of himself. He was quite flirtatious and seemed to be perfectly aware of his good looks, and he did quite a lot of talking about himself and his Quidditch career – so much so, in fact, that Frida did not have a chance to add anything about herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida imagined that silence was probably for the best, as her family was technically in hiding even though they claimed to be familiar with this “nice family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way,” he said, marching up the stone steps and through the double doors at the front of the manor. “They’re in the drawing room I believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of the house was possibly more spectacular than the outside. The entrance hall had highly polished wooden floors with an ornate candle chandelier hanging down in the middle of a winding staircase that had moving carvings of witches, wizards, and a variety of animals hewn into the stair posts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come along,” called the young man, in a slightly irritating tone. He had turned left and was holding open a towering oak door for her, smiling and gesturing for her to pass in ahead of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida entered the opulently decorated drawing room to find a slight blonde witch and a tall beefy wizard sitting together reading on the couches in front of their enormous fireplace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello,” said the witch with an enchanting smile, “You must be the girl who delivered our horses! I am Tanya and this is my husband Bert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bert, wearing sleek black and gold wizard robes, got to his feet and held out his hand for Frida to shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleasure,” said Frida, shaking his hand and looking up into his dazzling blue eyes. “Mr. Novák said he received your payment without issue. Oh, and Mr. Clearwater sends his regards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearwater, you say?” said the young man who stood watching by the door. “Do you know Andrea Clearwater?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do,” said Frida, politely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you we were getting those horses from their family, son,” said Bert, raising a haughty eyebrow at his son. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” said the young man, but he was looking at Frida with increased curiosity from the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger, dear,” said Tanya, turning to her son, “Why don’t you and this nice young lady take tea together? Your father and I have some business to discuss in the library. You will stay for tea won’t you dear? In fact, I don’t think I caught your name…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Frida,” said Frida, letting her voice rise up loud and clear. “Frida Addams.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida turned slowly towards where the tall young man was standing agape. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the infamous Roger Davies, thought Frida. He had been the one to write such insolent letters to her years ago – her stomach lurched with rage and embarrassment at having flirted with this buffoon. Perhaps she should have figured it out, considering that Andrea’s family knew him so well and that he was the only wealthy friend that Andrea had, but she didn’t imagine he’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>wealthy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tanya stared from Roger to Frida with obvious concern, before Frida came to her decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mrs. Davies,” said Frida, looking Roger straight in the eye. “I’ll take tea.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rufus Scrimgeour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Do you two know each other?” asked Roger’s mother, looking from her son to Frida and back again. Roger was rendered speechless for a moment as Frida stared at him with a challenging smirk, waiting him to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh well, not per say, Mum,” said Roger, standing himself up to his full height and striding into the room. “However, I do know of her and we have had some correspondences in the past, but this is in fact our first meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, excellent,” said Tanya, clapping her gloved hands together enthusiastically; though, Roger was not convinced that she was ignorant to the palpable tension between Frida and himself. “I’ll leave you two to better acquaint yourselves. If you’ll excuse me, Frida; Bert and I need to finish discussing some business. Please stay, we would be happy to have you for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bert had already excused himself without much ceremony, so Tanya quietly left the room after her husband, smiling at Roger as she often did. She was such an agreeable woman, in stark contrast with his father who seemed to be of the opinion that anything outside the realm of his current interests and purposes was beneath his notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his best smile, Roger turned back to face Frida, who was standing in front of the far sofa smiling at Roger – though her raised eyebrow seemed to indicate confrontation, so it was fairly evident that she was still bitter about their previous interactions.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some years ago, Roger had received a strongly worded letter from Frida, rebuking him for his choice of Christmas present for his best friend, Andrea Clearwater. Naturally, Roger responded in kind, but to him, his letter was far less offensive than hers had been. He had been even more surprised to find that with each response that he sent to Frida, she became increasingly incensed and defamed his character ever more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never would have surmised that the beautiful woman who had appeared in his garden had been the same brazen creature that he had fought with via owl post not two years before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Frida,” said Roger, stepping forward in front of the fire and extending a hand for her to shake. “What a pleasant surprise. I guess you didn’t expect to find me here either. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida raised a golden-blonde brow. She was definitely glaring at him now.  Roger couldn’t believe that she was seriously still angry about their letters – although, she was Andrea’s friend after all, and Roger knew well enough how temperamental Andrea could be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure, is it?” said Frida, not taking his hand and tossing herself back onto the nearest sofa and crossing her legs contemptuously. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard to believe. The last time we spoke you said something like… Ah yes – you said I was “the bane of your existence,” if I remember correctly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the time,” said Roger simply before ringing a bell for tea. “If only because you kept pestering me with pointless contentions while I was busy with exams and Quidditch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes, Andrea did say you were obsessed with Quidditch,” said Frida, looking down her nose at Roger, her two little buns that sat atop her head like mouse ears, which Roger had thought so cute before he knew her identity, bobbling slightly as she shook her head at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And look where it got me!” said Roger, incredulously. “I’m with the Tutshill Tornados despite Ravenclaw’s loss at my last House Cup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>proud of that,” said Frida, her arms spread out as she rested them along the back of the couch. Roger thought now that she looked a lot less like a mouse, as he had initially thought, and more like a lioness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am,” said Roger, as tea appeared on the coffee table between Frida and himself. In spite of her poor manners, Roger decided to do the gentlemanly thing and pour a cup of tea for her. He glanced up at her as he poured her cup. She was still glowering at him, but her face seemed to have softened ever slightly as she scanned the room with shrewd eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her boots were caked with mud, yet she held one foot high as she bounced her crossed leg on her knee, not seeming to mind the grass and dirt that was also on her tight green trousers. As Roger’s eyes travelled up her long legs, he gathered that she must spend a great deal of time working outside, as her thighs were strong and lean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose your mum won’t mind you spilling boiling hot tea all over her nice wooden furniture, will she?” said Frida with a curt laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh!” said Roger. He hadn’t noticed that her cup was overflowing out of the saucer. “Right – not a problem!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger whipped out his wand and vanished the spilt tea before it could do any damage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” said Roger, handing Frida her cup which she received with her thin, dainty hands which were adorned with several rings and black nail polish.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Frida, somewhat neutrally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger granted Frida a long moment of awkward silence before pressing on to what he really wanted to talk to her about – if she was anything like Andrea, a little time and quiet was often enough to calm her down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” said Roger, finally, sitting himself up straight and leaning over the table towards Frida, whose expression immediately hardened when he spoke. “I’d like to just say that I have quite gotten over any insult you might have paid me in those letters, and I would like it if we could get along. Water under the bridge, as they say. It’s been a long time and I see no reason for either of us to continue carrying pointless grudges for so long!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida raised an eyebrow at him and leaned forward, mirroring Roger’s posture, which incidentally gave Roger a glimpse of her cleavage at the point of her black, V-neck shirt. He tactfully resisted the urge to glance down, and instead, stared steadily back into Frida’s humorless green eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t exactly an apology, was it?” said Frida, with a rather alarming tone in her voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t think I need to apologize,” said Roger, leaning back once more and taking a sip from his piping hot cup. “But if it will pacify you, then I will apologize for my part. As I’ve said, I’m willing to forget about the things that you said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had expected her to respond, but she did not. She just continued to stare at him expectantly, almost as if she hadn’t heard him speak at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” said Roger, who was having difficulty reading this enigmatic woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m waiting,” she said, tilting her head to the side challengingly. She really was unbelievable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger cleared his throat dramatically, leaning across the table towards Frida looking up at her from under his brow – a move that he had found usually worked wonders on the ladies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do apologize for offending you, and I hope that we could start over,” he said, reaching out his hand for her to take once more.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida bit her lip staring at his hand thoughtfully for a short moment as Roger patiently waited. After a moment she reached out and took his hand, but she would not let go when Roger was ready to pull away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” said Frida severely, gripping his hand with unnecessary force. “I can agree to be cordial with you even after everything, but don’t expect me to forget about it. I haven’t, and I certainly won’t consider starting over until you can prove to me that you deserve my respect. Got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was more difficult than Roger had expected – and quite blunt as well. Roger did not have much experience interacting with muggles, but from what he had gathered from Andrea’s father, he had thought muggles were not all that different from Wizard kind so he could not attribute Frida’s terse demeanor to being muggle. Perhaps it came with the territory of her economic status. Yes, that had to be it. He could hardly blame her for that, but her directness still shook him momentarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly, I quite understand,” said Roger, smiling at her as he settled himself down more comfortably on his couch. He glanced at Frida’s rucksack which sat at her side. It looked rather stuffed – he spied a sock peeking out from the drawstrings which were threatening to come undone. “Are you planning on staying long? I see you’ve brought some luggage.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Frida, glancing down and her bag and stuffing the sock back inside with a finger. “I’m thinking of stopping at a pub or something on the way back. I need a vacation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” laughed Roger, thinking back to all the times he had spent with Andrea’s family. “Is Radhika driving you mad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Frida derisively, eyeing Roger with narrowed eyes. “Because I needed time on my own. I don’t have the luxury of a spacious manor to prance and frolic around, so sometimes I need to get out for some elbow room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prance and frolic? So she thought he was a dandy, did she? Well, he’d soon prove her wrong on that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, it seems we’re out of tea,” said Roger, as he picked up the empty pot to pour another cup for Frida.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really surprised?” asked Frida with a wicked little giggle that instantly Roger made bristle. Insolent creature. “You did spill most of it didn’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s just as well,” said Roger good naturedly, slapping his hands against his knees and getting to his feet. “How about I give you a tour of Witley Court?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” said Frida, getting to her feet with a surprising amount of grace. “I need to use the washroom first, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out the door to the left – first door,” said Roger, gesturing for Frida to pass through the doors in front of him. “I’ll wait for you by the stairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She left without a word, rucksack on her back, and glided from the room. Roger noticed a natural sway in her shapely hips as he watched her walk down the corridor to the lavatory.  Roger found Frida somewhat challenging to analyze; she was both rugged and elegant, uncouth and charming, sullen and somehow amiable. He had yet to determine whether or not he liked this perplexing woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most, if not all, of Roger’s friends were women (not to mention the many girlfriends he had taken up for his amusement at Hogwarts) so he was quite used to the turbulence of the female sex. He had a great respect for women, they indeed proved to be more reliable as friends than men tended to, but he knew how temperamental they could be – though it was well worth the occasional moodiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida had seemed harmless enough until they had realized each other’s identities, but now Roger half wondered if she would knock him in the back of his head when he wasn’t paying attention despite her agreeing to put their past disagreements aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger lazily leaned back on the bottom steps of the central staircase, tugging at his Quidditch armor. He thought distantly that he had actually somewhat enjoyed his and Frida’s bantering letters in spite of the insults that she had paid him. It was a bit like dueling, and he had supposed that she had felt the same. It seemed, however, that he had been mistaken in this assumption. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Roger suddenly got an odd prickly feeling on his neck, and turned to find Frida watching him serenely, resting her chin on the back of the centaur which was carven into the newel at the bottom of the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” she said in a sing-song voice, “Or were you planning on taking a nap right there on the stairs?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right then,” said Roger standing up. Something was slightly different about her; her golden tan skin seemed to glow more than it did before. Perhaps she had washed her face? Redone her hair? There was definitely considerably less grass on her clothing than before. That would explain what took her so long in the toilet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger brought her first to conservatory, then to the dining room, the ball room, and let her glance into the library where his parents were still. He, then, took her to the tapestry room, the old library, and the music room. She remained silently observing as he gave her a brief history of each room. He could tell that she was trying to seem impassive to the splendor of the manor, but her wide green eyes, flitting from wall to wall, betrayed her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What seemed to really draw Frida’s attention was the portrait gallery. She stopped and stared in wonder at the original seventeen sixty-seven piece by Jean-Honoré Fragonard, </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Swing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She reached out a delicate hand to touch the frame, but seemed to think better of it and withdrew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I – I thought this was supposed to be in London in the Wallace Collection…” said Frida, her deep green eyes shining as she watched the portrait’s inhabitants laughing and butterflies flitting across the work, as the lady in her rosy gown swung merrily to-and-fro on a swing from a great green tree.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this house is supposed to be a ruin, according to the muggles,” Roger chuckled, watching Frida’s finally unguarded face as she gazed at the painting before her. “The one in London is a replica of course, just like how muggles who come to visit this house leave with a vivid memory of having explored a spectacular ruin. Muggles aside from you, of course – considering your special Ministry privileges.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida pulled her eyes from the painting to give Roger a brief glare before returning her gaze to the paining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to see some more originals?” said Roger, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her around the gallery. After a while, Roger sat down on a loveseat in the middle of the gallery and let Frida take her time. So she liked history did she? All of the sudden, a great idea occurred to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Frida,” Roger called across the gallery, where Frida was admiring a portrait of Poseidon. “How would you like to talk to someone from sixteen forty-one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” asked Frida suspiciously, though he could tell that he had peaked her interest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me, I want to take you to the North-West tower,” said Roger, leading the way. He looked back to find Frida gazing reluctantly back at the gallery, but she seemed to be following him nevertheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger led Frida down a long candlelit corridor and through a passage which opened to a spiral staircase. They hiked all the way to the top which revealed a small square room with several armchairs and a bookshelf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” asked Frida, glancing around nervously. It seemed that she could sense the room’s history before she even knew anything about it. A notably odd trait considering that she was a muggle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wait and see,” said Roger, walking over to a wardrobe in the corner of the room. “Have a seat. Mr. Foley? Mr. Foley, it’s Roger!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As predicted, Thomas Foley was haunting the wardrobe, as he often did in the late afternoon before coming down from his tower and roaming the corridors at night – usually moaning and making all kinds of unnecessary racket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever is it?” asked Mr. Foley, gliding from the wardrobe and hovering in the middle of the room. “You know very well I do not like to be disturbed at this hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, we have a visitor today,” said Roger, as Mr. Foley used his cane to scratch his head through his silvery powdered wig. “This is Frida Addams. She was just admiring the gallery downstairs when – ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger stopped short as he noticed the look on Frida’s face. She was staring at Mr. Foley, eyes wide and her lips had become quite pale. She was sitting in her armchair, utterly frozen in place, and was looking somewhat unwell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida, this is Thomas Foley – he owned this house many years ago. He built this tower,” Roger said, but Frida’s eyes were still fixed upon Mr. Foley, who was floating a few feet from her, digging in his ear with a transparent pinky finger paying her little to no notice. “Is this the first time you’ve seen a ghost, Frida? He’s quite harmless, I assure you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida’s wide eyes flicked from Mr. Foley to Roger briefly, and she took a sudden, shaky breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm, yeah. It is the first time,” said Frida, still looking quite stiff in her seat, but had regained some of her color. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Mr. Foley, I do apologize for disturbing your rest. I think we will be off now, but I just wanted to give Frida a chance to meet you,” said Roger, walking over to Frida and taking her by an arm and urging her from her chair. “We must be off now – do take care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Foley, who took the form of a elderly wizard in a long vented coat, made a vague, non-committal grunt and floated lazily back towards the wardrobe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger guided Frida back down the stairs and out onto a balcony at the end of the corridor overlooking the front fountain. He watched her carefully as she stood with her arms leaning against the balustrade, seeming to be in the midst of composing herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” sighed Frida, after a moment or two, “Sorry about that… I don’t really know why I reacted that way. It’s not like I haven’t been exposed to magic before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I am sorry,” said Roger, thankful that she no longer appeared to be on the verge of collapse, “I assumed that you had met a ghost before, but I suppose Diagon Alley doesn’t really have many hauntings does it? Hogwarts has loads of them, but then again it’s a very old building. Are you feeling okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” said Frida, shooting Roger an odd look that gave Roger a small start. Was she embarrassed? He had not yet seen her so vulnerable considering all the posturing that she had been doing that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you say to a glass of wine?” asked Roger, gesturing back into the house. “I can have one sent to the drawing room. I would wager it will make you feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then,” said Frida, straightening up with an indecipherable expression once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She led the way back into the manor without further ado and strode down the corridor with such surety that one would assume that she owned the place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several minutes later, Roger and Frida sipped away at one of their finer bottles of wine, and Frida’s previous feisty wit had returned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why is it that you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if you are supposed to be part of a professional Quidditch team?” asked Frida with a cheeky edge to her voice as she took a generous gulp from her wine glass. “I thought you would need to practice as a group on a regular basis. Andrea’s ex, Oliver Wood, moved in order to be closer to his team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You forget that I can apparate,” said Roger, raising an eyebrow at her. “And that’s because Wood was always a prick with a great big ego to match. Here – have a sandwich, it’s well passed lunchtime.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, I see,” said Frida, taking a sandwich from a tray that had appeared before them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you do for work, then?” asked Roger, watching as Frida took a sizable bite of her little sandwich. At least she didn’t eat like his friend Jamie, he thought – she would have probably stuffed the whole thing in her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a professional hair dresser – you know, I cut and style people’s hair. I know you wizards don’t usually need that,” said Frida a-matter-of-factly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow! That sounds like a miserable set up,” said Roger sympathetically. It sounded like dull and dirty work to him. “How did you get roped into doing that? Maybe you could land something more prestigious once all of this mess with You-Know-Who is over and done with. Whenever that is…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida regarded Roger with an unfathomable expression for several long moments before raising a single eyebrow and taking a sip of her wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, believe it or not, being a hairdresser is plenty prestigious for me. I can hardly expect </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to understand,” said Frida in a cold but well-mannered voice as she placed her half-drunk wine on the table between them. “In fact, I love what I do and it’s what I’ve always wanted. I am glad we had this conversation, though. Now I can see that I am clearly way below the status of who you usually keep company with. It’s little wonder as to why that is now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger gaped at Frida. He had no idea how his comment could have turned their interaction sour so quickly. What had been so wrong about what he had said? So what? Perhaps he didn’t like the sound of her job, but if she liked it, the more power to her. Why did she have to take it all personally? He hadn’t said anything about her status!  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “As it happens, it’s getting rather late. I didn’t really plan on staying this long to begin with, and now I’m behind schedule,” said Frida coolly, standing up and hoisting her rucksack on her shoulder. “Bye Roger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what just happened?” said Roger, rubbing a sore spot out of his temple and getting to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing really,” said Frida casually, as she walked towards the doors. “I’ve just decided I don’t want to stay here anymore. Thanks for the tea and the wine. I’ve got a train to catch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing? That was definitely one of those things that women tended to say when they were cross.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, at least let me fly you over there!” said Roger, trotting behind her, determined not to let her leave offended. It didn’t do to have her run back to Andrea and tell her that he had offended her in the last moments of her visit. “Or I can apparate you back to the property line at Andrea’s grandparents’ place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m perfectly capable of making it back without your help. Thank you though,” said Frida with a strange smile. She was walking down the terrace steps away from him towards the fountain and the front gate. The walk to the station would take her at least two hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger shook his head with a dry laugh. He had never met someone so incredibly suborn. What could he really do to stop her if she insisted on wasting her time walking all the way to the station. She was clearly determined to resent him, no matter what he said or did. She was halfway to the fountain, when Roger gave her one last chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re really sure, then,” he called after her, but she did not show any sign of hearing him, though he was certain that she did. Fine then. With a final glance back at her distant silhouette, Roger strode back into the manor to freshen up and change back into his robes for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interaction could have been worse he supposed. He had done everything he could to make her feel comfortable and welcome. She had chosen to be difficult. It was a shame that had already made up her mind about him before they met – they might have made decent friends. Perhaps he would see her again one day at one of Andrea’s parties and she will have gotten over her stupid grudge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once up in his bedroom, Roger stripped himself of his Quidditch gear and flung it at the foot of his spacious black and gold bed. A hot bath was already waiting for him, as usual, so he climbed in for a much needed rest before dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After his bath, Roger wandered over to the thick velvety black drapes that obscured the view from his balcony and threw them aside and stepped out. Bats could be seen flitting about against the fiery sunset backdrop which enhanced the shadows of the grounds below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Roger drew in a deep sigh as the warm breeze caressed his bare skin. He smiled in mild amusement as his mind toyed with the idea of Frida wandering back to the manor, having given up her long walk to the station, to find Roger standing there naked on his balcony. That would surely seal the deal on her negative opinion of him – she’d likely think he was a madman, standing boldly at the front side of the east wing with the family jewels out for all to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, there was no one outside to see. His mother was undoubtedly already in the dining room with his father, reading a book or having a glass of wine. His father would be opening letters from his esteemed colleagues or answering an invitation to go hunting in the Lake District. They seldom had any visitors nor did Roger expect any of his friends to stop by. Jamie and Eliza had their careers, not to mention each other, to keep them occupied, and last Roger had heard from Andrea, she was somewhere in Romania on a mission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was, of course, nearly half way to the train station by now, and from what he knew of her pig-headedness thus far, she would certainly rather walk all the way there than to accept his help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger went back inside and dressed himself in a set of dark navy dress-robes for dinner. His father was very particular about Roger always observing the necessary formalities independent of whether they had company in the house or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Roger made his way down the stairs towards the dining room, he could smell the aroma of rosemary and pork wafting from the kitchens below.  Little to his surprise, Bert and Tanya were already seated at the dinner table, his father reading a long piece of parchment while his mother gazed serenely out an open window into the indigo dusk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger, you’re late,” said Bert without looking up from his business and taking a sip from his whiskey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only barely, Father,” said Roger, good-naturedly, taking a seat at the middle of the long table between his parents. “The food is smelling quite nice tonight, wouldn’t you agree?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes,” said Tanya, beaming at Roger over her wineglass. “How was your day, baby? Did you enjoy your afternoon with our guest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t complain,” said Roger, as dinner magically appeared before him. “She insisted upon walking to the train station, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walking?” said Tanya disbelievingly, shooting a glance down the table at her husband who did not seem to be listening. “How strange. Could you not have taken her there yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She insisted quite firmly,” said Roger shrugging. He was glad his mother could see the senselessness of Frida’s actions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, a black owl glided straight through the open window and landed squarely in front of Bert, who paused his reading and stared at it curiously before opening it. His eyes darted across the parchment frantically. All of the sudden he got to his feet, and both Tanya and Roger stared at him in wonder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe it…” said Bert quietly. Roger had hardly ever seen his father behave so anxiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, dear?” said Tanya, who stood up at once as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, is dead…” Bert said slowly, then looked between Roger and Tanya gravely. “The Ministry has fallen to You-Know-Who. My contact says the new Ministry will immediately begin taking measures to eliminate Muggle-Borns, squibs, and ‘blood traitors’ alike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tanya covered her mouth with her hands and sank into her chair. Roger could hardly believe his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” said Roger incredulously. “How? When? Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have any more information than what I just relayed to you, son,” said Bert, sitting down once more, pushing his full plate away from him, and pouring himself another whiskey. “But I am sure. My contact is very reliable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, how are they going to know who is Muggle-Born and who isn’t?” said Roger, his mind reeling. “Surely it will take them long enough to find everyone that most people can get to safety before then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they won’t,” said Bert, as if he thought Roger was incredibly slow. “They have lists of Muggle-Borns, squibs, and select muggles. Muggles with Ministry-granted permissions will be in particular danger, as they have the Trace in place so that any magic performed within a close distance of them will alert Ministry officials. Normally this is for their own safety, but now I’m afraid it will be their demise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger!” exclaimed Tanya frantically, suddenly lifting her hands from her tear-streaked face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Frida</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Roger! She can’t be alone! They’ll find her, Roger! Tonight is not the night for her to wander alone! You have to go get her! If you bring her back here the enchantments on this manor will hide her!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger quickly glanced down at his watch. She was likely already at the station. He leapt from his seat and ran from the room without a word. If only Frida hadn’t been so stubborn… He only hoped that he wasn’t too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~    ~    ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Frida was finally at the train station, there was only one more train leaving for Leeds, and it wasn’t due to depart until seven-thirty. Frida was glad to rest her legs for the next fifteen minutes until boarding began, as the walk to the station had indeed been gruelingly far – even by her standards.  She had hoped that she would have been able to flag down a taxi, but she was too far out from the city to easily find one. At least the journey had given her time to think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida sat down on a bench to wait for her train to arrive, leaning her back against her sweaty rucksack. Her visit at Witley Court had been a mixed bag. It was a truly mesmerizing estate, but her host had left something to be desired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger might have been brought up as a gentlemen, but he was painfully oblivious. Andrea had said that Ravenclaws tended to be witty, but Roger had proven over and over that not all Ravenclaws put thought into their words before they spoke. She supposed the trip had been worth it, but she was quite glad to be away from Roger and his judgmental remarks.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words hadn’t really hurt her, she had expected him to say as much at some point or another, but she had carried an inescapable glumness, that she couldn’t quite explain, with her all the way to the station. A drink or two would do her good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Frida was in the midst of imagining herself kicking back over a pint in a music-filled tavern when a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> shook her from her fantasy. She and a few other people glanced around the tracks for the source of the noise, but they soon gave up. Frida, on the other hand, was quite familiar with that particular sound. It was the sound that she heard whenever Andrea appeared outside her home – the sound of apparition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why would a wizard need to apparate to a train station if they could transport themselves to wherever they need – no train necessary? She quickly checked her rucksack to make sure that she hadn’t left anything behind at Witley Court, but everything seemed to be in order. It was probably nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several minutes later, Frida’s train finally pulled into the station, and a crowd of passengers flooded off the train and onto the platform. Frida got up, and stood out of the way so that she could board the train as soon as the hubbub had dispersed, but she suddenly had a strange prickling feeling on the nape of her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida glanced around her to find a creepy middle-aged man with long shaggy hair leering at her several yards away. Old pervert. Frida shot the man an ugly grimace, and made her way down to the other end of the train so he didn’t get any ideas about sitting anywhere near her. Once Frida had gained some distance, she peeped back over her shoulder just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a start, Frida realized that the man was weaving his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on her back. Frida hurried along the platform and pulled a pocket knife from the side pocket of her rucksack. Hopefully the man’s path was just a coincidence. She really did not want to have to defend herself. In London, she had come across a few creeps before on the way back from going out for drinks, but when they saw that she meant business they had luckily always backed off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noticing the toilets a few paces away, Frida decided to dodge inside the ladies to lose her pursuer. She ducked down, so that her head was well below the rest of the crowd, and dashed towards the lavatories. She was just about to step in, when a hand whipped out from around the corner and dragged her behind the brick wall of the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger?!” exclaimed Frida, who had just placed the tip of her knife at the bottom of his sternum, ready to drive it into his abdomen. “What are you – ”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shhh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” said Roger frantically, pushing the knife down with his wand as he brought his fingers to his lips. “No time to explain now. Come with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I need to get on this train,” said Frida, pulling her arm from his grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t,” said Roger in a low voice. “There are wizards hunting for you, Frida. The Ministry has fallen, and they’ve got your name. They’re tracking you. We’ve got to get you back to Witley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” said Frida, hardly believing her ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger grabbed her firmly by the elbow, and without warning, she the world before her spun around her in a whirl of color and she felt like her body was being compressed by an enormous pressure all around her. The next thing she knew, Roger was leading her by the wrist out from under an old oak tree by a windmill nowhere near the train station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” said Roger, breaking into a trot with this hand still wrapped tightly around Frida’s arm. “We have to hurry. You’ll be safe once we are on Witley’s grounds, but the enchantments that will protect you also don’t let us apparate directly there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, no,” said Frida, her mind reeling. “Just apparate me back to Otterburn! I need to go home, they – d”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do that, Frida,” said Roger grimly, leading her past a hedge of roses and glancing wearily over his shoulder. She could see the gleam of the moon on the surface of Witley Court’s lake in the distance. “That will put your family in danger. The enchantments that the Novák have in place protect them now, but if I apparate you nearby Death Eaters will come snooping about looking for where you went, and we can’t have that. It’s too much of a risk. Now hurry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gate to the estate was just paces ahead of them when Frida realized that something was missing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My bag!” Frida exclaimed, skidding to a halt, inadvertently yanking Roger with her. “I must have dropped it! It’s got my wallet with my identification card in it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t go back now,” said Roger, shaking his head and pulling Frida along side him even more determinedly. “They’ll be looking around on these streets soon. I apparated with you – that will have alerted them, and once the new Ministry sends whoever is looking for you that information they’ll be scouring the countryside for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was happening? Frida could hardly process it. It had been one thing discussing the possibly of someone coming after her when her family was deciding to go into hiding, but having it actually happen was not a nice feeling at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a wave of his wand, the black iron gates before them swung open and Roger and Frida practically leapt over the threshold where the gates slammed shut with a loud clang behind them. Panting, Roger let go of Frida’s arm. The spot he had been clasping was most definitely bruised, but she couldn’t deny that she was grateful to feel somewhat more secure now that they were back at Witley Court. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a minute or two of catching their breath, Roger finally spoke in the darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably head back,” said Roger, pulling out his wand and flicking it so that a ball of white light shone from its tip like a flashlight. “My parents will want to know that you’re safe.”    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some ten minutes later, Frida found herself once more in the drawing room of Witley Court, but this time she was under Tanya Davies’s thorough examination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did they touch you? Are you hurt? How many were there? What did he look like? Were you followed at the apparition point?” asked Tanya, so quickly that it was a wonder that she didn’t run out of breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She said she was fine, Tanya,” said Bert sternly, standing over where Frida and Tanya were seated. “What matters now is keeping everyone inside until we know more. Ms. Addams, you will have to stay here until further notice. No one can know you are here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about my parents?” asked Frida, glancing nervously at Tanya, who was watching Frida tenderly with her bright blue eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will notify them this evening,” responded Bert, making his exit from the drawing room. “I have much to do this evening, in light of these events. We have prepared a room for you upstairs. Please make yourself at home, Ms. Addams. I will let everyone know once I know more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger, who was gazing out the window into the darkness and running his hands through his hair anxiously over and over, turned to his mother in a decisive manner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She doesn’t have any clothes, Mum,” said Roger, striding over to where his father had been standing before them moments ago. “Let’s get her something clean to wear and get her settled. It’s been a long day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, dear,” said Tanya, seeming glad to have a short-term plan in sight. “Come along, I’ve got plenty of robes, and they should fit you nicely, I believe.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida didn’t bother resisting. She didn’t have the energy to make any decisions and was all too happy to follow Roger alongside Tanya up the stairs to her bedroom on the first floor. It was the largest bedroom that Frida had ever been in, with a massive carven oak four-poster bed against the wall across from a crackling fireplace. There was a large wooden trunk at the end of the bed, a dressing table by the window, and a double-doored wardrobe near the crimson-curtained windows. She even had her own bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you just wait here for just a moment while I run up to my room and get you some clothes,” said Tanya, giving Frida’s arm a reassuring squeeze right on the point that Roger’s vice-like grip had bruised her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nod, Roger made to follow his mother out of the bedroom, but Frida had to say something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger, wait,” said Frida quickly, taking a seat on the trunk at the end of her bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking surprised, Roger stood hesitantly in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what’s up?” he said casually, as if none of that evening’s chaos had occurred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for coming after me,” said Frida seriously. “I’m pretty sure I would be dead or worse if you hadn’t, so thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger glanced around the room nervously for a moment before smiling politely at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said, edging out of the room. Frida vaguely wondered if he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, but she supposed it made sense given the stress of their trip over. “Goodnight, Frida. Until tomorrow, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger left the room, closing the door behind him with a click. No sooner had Roger left, had Tanya returned with an armful of robes and pajamas for her, and Frida quickly dressed herself for sleep, blew out the candles in her room, and slipped into her large, king-sized bed. Despite the comfort of the bed, Frida could not sleep. Her mind was replaying that evening’s events. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had just coaxed herself into a meditative state on the edge of sleep when she heard a hideous, ghostly moaning and rattling in the corridor outside her room.  Frida pulled the blankets high over her head to drown out the noise, trying to remember that Roger had assured her that the family’s hideous ghost man was harmless. Apparently, she would have a very long night ahead of her. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tea Towels and Tapestries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Frida woke earlier than she had wanted to, considering that she had barely slept all night because of Thomas Foley’s ghost’s midnight rounds as Witley Court’s unofficial town crier, as a streak of sun shone through a sizable gap between the window drapes. She  might have been able to ignore the sunlight and drift back into a lazy half-sleep for the next hour, but a bright sky-blue blur, which was quite apparent against the vivid green of the patch of visible lawn, whizzing about in her line of sight through the gap woke her more completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She recognized the bright blue fabric as Roger Davies’s Quidditch robes. The family was up, then. Frida had no earthly idea what time it was – all she knew was that in spite of how tired she still was, she needed to get up and get some answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a quick shower, Frida slipped on a set of emerald-green robes and peeped out into the corridor. She hadn’t gotten a proper look at it because of the previous night’s excitement; it had long, highly polished wooden floors that reflected the candles and portraits that lined the walls. There were many doors and windows that alternated every few meters. How embarrassing would it be if she forgot which one was hers? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida took a hairband from her wrist and looped around the door knob. That should do the trick. As big as the manor was, on her way to the front of the house, Frida did not fail to notice the door at the end of the corridor which lead up to the tower where the Foley ghost would stay during the daytime. Hopefully she would get used to him… She didn’t see how.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house was eerily quiet, but as she made her way down the main staircase she was greeted by the scent of crackling bacon and potatoes and could hear the clinking of china in the dining room not far away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida peeped into the dining room and spied Tanya sitting at the left end of a long table that was as glossy as the lake which could be seen behind it from the room’s many arched windows. She had a small plate of toast and eggs and an elegant china cup of coffee before her as she nervously clacked her nails on the table while she ate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” said Frida, stepping into the room and rested a hand tentatively on one of the many ornate chairs that lined the table before her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Frida!” said Tanya, enthusiastically motioning for her to take a seat at her side. “Did you sleep well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm, yeah,” Frida lied, watching as Tanya rang a bell and a hearty plateful of food appeared in front of Frida from thin air. “I hope I didn’t sleep in too late or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all, dear,” said Tanya offering Frida a coffee which she gratefully accepted. “It’s not yet eight. I didn’t expect you to come down for another hour or two after the terrifying incident yesterday.”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn it – she really should have tried to sleep in longer. Now she would likely be tired all day. Frida ate her breakfast in silence for a little while until her patience could hold out no longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did your husband find anything more out?” asked Frida. “Did he tell my parents that I’m here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes and no, dear. But wait – here comes Roger! He should hear this too,” said Tanya looking over at the door just as Roger strode in, still dressed in his Quidditch uniform. “Good morning, sweetie! How was your practice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was great, Mum – thanks,” said Roger, taking the seat across from Frida and stabbing a sausage, from the plate which had just appeared in front of him, with a flourish. “In form as always. Captain Birch certainly doesn’t take any slack from us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, I was just about to talk to Frida about how things are panning out since last night, and I thought you ought to listen in,” said Tanya patiently, as Roger took a cup of black coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, of course,” said Roger, putting down his fork and seeming to forget everything but his mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Frida,” started Tanya with slight hesitation. “The good news is that Bert was able to reach out to your parents to let them know that you are safe. Unfortunately, he also discovered that several owls in our county have been intercepted by You-Know-Who’s new Ministry. It’s hard to say if that is because of last night’s incident with you two or not, but that just means that this area is being watched and it’s not safe to send any owls that we haven’t thoroughly encrypted and it will be impossible for us to fly you back to your family’s home without a high prospect of being caught.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida stared at Tanya, waiting for her to elaborate, but she did not. She seemed to be waiting for Frida to understand something.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you mean to say that I have to stay here?” said Frida, glancing at Roger who was intently focused on what was being said. “For how long exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida, I know how hard it must be for you to be away from home at a time like this, but just know that this is in everyone’s best interest,” said Tanya sympathetically. “It just isn’t safe for you or your family to be out in the open. If they didn’t have a trace on you it would be one thing, but since they have a list… well, there’s just no other way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida continued to stare into her bright blue eyes as the reality of the situation sank in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In short, the answer to your question of how long you will have to stay here is: indefinitely,” said Tanya quickly, as if she were trying to get the worst over with. “That is unless something changes… Times will be unpredictable for a while. That doesn’t mean your witch and wizard friends can’t come and visit! As long as you are sure that you can trust them, of course – like Andrea!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrea… Where was she? Frida desperately hoped that she was safe. She felt confident that her family was safe. The Novák’s were completely off the grid – muggle and wizard both. The protective spells there would be strong enough to keep them hidden, and they never left for anything anyway. She could hardly allow herself to feel sorry for herself at being stranded in a mansion, but her stomach churned at the idea that she could end up staying there for years. Who knew when the next time she would see her family was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try not to worry, dear,” said Tanya, kindly. “You’ll be perfectly safe here. The security at Witley Court is of the highest degree. There should be no way for any dark wizards to find you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger shot a dark, meaningful glance at his mother. Frida could guess his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except that Roger apparated near me yesterday,” said Frida. “So they know I’m in the area. Won’t they come looking here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” said Tanya looking slightly uncomfortable. “Possibly, but we can manage that when it comes, if it did happen. In the meantime, we are more than happy to have you stay with us. We have plenty of space, and it is our pleasure. Please make yourself completely at home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was suddenly a little too warm for Frida’s taste. She needed some air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a lot to think about,” said Frida standing up and tucking in her chair. She reached to take her empty plate but it disappeared before her fingers could grasp the edge. “I think I’m going to go for a walk. Thank you all for your hospitality Mrs. Davies. Please thank Mr. Davies for me as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, he’s been quite busy with all of this calamity. He had breakfast early and is in his study. I’ll pass on your sentiments,” said Tanya warmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida glanced back at Roger before leaving the dining room. He was swirling his coffee slowly in his cup, staring into the distance looking quite anxious. Well, at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t stuck at a stranger’s home for an undetermined amount of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida strode down the long, glistening corridor to the entrance hall and down the great steps and turned left at the bottom. She didn’t exactly know where she was going to, but she preferred to process her new situation without an audience. For the second time in her recent memory, Frida felt completely powerless against the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trapped between the muggle and wizarding world, there had been little that she could do to help find her father, when he had been captured by dark wizards a couple years ago, and there was less even that she could do under these new circumstances. She could not communicate with her family, she couldn’t leave the safety of Witley’s grounds, and she couldn’t do anything to help in any resistance movements against Voldemort (or You-Know-Who as the wizard folk liked to call him) because she was a muggle. What’s more, there were likely a foul group of wizards roaming around the neighborhood trying to catch her scent so they could torture and kill her as they had tried to do to her father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was now sectioned off to a bit of land where she neither knew anyone nor had any possessions of her own except the clothes she had been wearing when she had arrived and her knife which she had managed to hold on to all the way from the train station to Witley Court the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Frida weaved through the perfectly pruned hedges in the Davies’ formal garden, she realized that she was headed back towards the stables. It made sense for her feet to take her this way – the only two creatures in the vicinity that Frida knew well were Daisy and Eva, and she could do with some familiarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once at the stables, the horses were easy to find. The stables must have had an enchantment on them to make room for such particularly large horses because Daisy and Eva were together in a shared stall, munching happily on an enormous barrel of hay, with room to spare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you the one who was taking care of these abraxen?” demanded a deep, crackly voice from behind Frida.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to find the one-eyed stablemaster staring crossly up at her. He appeared to be a full head shorter than Frida, but his brusque manner more than made up for his lack of height intimidation factor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I am,” said Frida, mirroring his crossed arms with her own. “Why?”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done up their tails all wrong,” said the man, as tersely as ever. “You can’t cut the hair up that high on abraxen. That’s only for other breeds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why not?” asked Frida coolly, staring down into his beady black eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the style!” exclaimed the man, waving his arms about dramatically. “This is an estate! We can’t have the beasts looking like they haven’t been tended to properly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s just hair,” said Frida, turning her back to the man and gazing at Daisy and Eva’s majestic forms. “It’ll grow back. Don’t get all worked up. I’ll be living here for a while now by the way, so maybe you can show me the way you think it should be done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” grumbled the man, scratching his stubble loud enough for Frida to hear. “We’ll see about that. What are you called anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Frida Addams,” said Frida glancing back over her shoulder at the man. “And you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They call me Mark,” he said, critically appraising Frida with his good eye as if he were questioning her aptitude in horse care and not finding much in her favor. “How long are you staying at Witley anyways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A while, I expect,” answered Frida. “I’ll be coming out here a lot to check on my girls, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that right?” said Mark before shuffling away grumbling to himself. “You’d better get out of the way soon. I’m taking them out into the paddock in half an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh of slight annoyance, Frida rested her chin upon the stable door and gazed out the window at the magnificent estate, illuminated by the bright morning light. It was truly breathtaking. There surely were worse places that she could be trapped, and being at Witley gave her the unique opportunity to study and sketch architecture and art – not to mention she would have ample opportunity to spend outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she were back at the Novák’s cottage, as much as she loved it there, she would still be in the same routine that she had been for the past year or so. After all, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted an adventure so badly. True, being stranded certainly wasn’t what she had been hoping for, but the restlessness that had been gradually consuming her just days ago had completely dissipated.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With renewed determination, Frida said goodbye to Daisy and Eva and headed out onto the vast green grounds to get a better grasp of her surroundings. The breeze was sweet and a little warmer and dryer than it had been in the Northumbrian National Park where the cottage was, and it made for even better walking conditions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were far less trees at Witley than the Novák’s cottage; most of the grounds surrounding the manor were grass with formal gardens here and there. Most of the trees that Frida could see created a wall of sorts around the property, and there were a great number of them by the lake. The grounds felt more like a park than anything else, but Frida could see how Roger could so easily practice Quidditch outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wandered around the perimeter of the grounds until she reached the lake where she discovered a small dock and a larger boat house with several wooden rowing vessels which were roped together, bobbing gently as the dark green lake rippled with the wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A ways passed the lake, Frida found a large, glass greenhouse, but it was locked so she decided to ask Tanya about it later. After about an hour and a half of trapsing across the grounds, Frida determined that the most engaging features were the stables, paddocks, lake, and maybe the greenhouse. The rest was pretty to look at, but there was little to do there except to stroll aimlessly through, so Frida decided to head back inside the manor to revisit some of the rooms that Roger showed her which she had liked the most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped by the library first since she hadn’t gotten a proper look at it yesterday since Roger’s parents were there. Frida’s jaw dropped as she entered the lofty, two-level room. It had arched ceilings lined with stained glass skylights that depicted many wizards and magical creatures alike that danced through green landscapes, churning waters, and up and down stone castles. She even thought that she saw a dragon blasting fire in a window at the far side of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The “room” could have easily served as a public library for a small town and had numerous ladders that slid side to side across towering bookshelves on their own accord. Surely no one would mind if she borrowed a book or two, so Frida helped herself and began browsing by subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida first picked out </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aquatic Wonders of Yorkshire: A Wizard's Field Guide</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as she knew well enough that wizarding homes often sported creatures that muggle homes somehow did not and she wanted to be prepared for whatever the lake outside had to offer. She also took out </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Life as a Muggle, </span>
  </em>
  <span>by Daisy Hookum, about a witch that did not use magic for an entire year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year was hardly a lifetime, thought Frida, yanking the book from the shelf and stuffing it in the crook of her arm with the other book. She was sure that the book would irritate her, but she couldn’t help but feel curious.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After deciding that two books was plenty to haul around the manor, Frida marched along to the conservatory. What better place to read her books than beneath hundreds of exotic, magical plants in one of the many late-Victorian armchairs. Frida got a little lost at first, but she eventually found her way back to the conservatory and set her books at a small table surrounded by ferns and odd flowering bushes that Frida had never seen before.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conservatory was as large or larger than the library had been and, like the library, it had gracefully arched ceilings as well (except the glass was white rather than stained.) There were live fairies and strange bulbous insects floating around above her head, buzzing quietly in a rather calming hum.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While there must have been hundreds of plants, the room did not have the appearance of an overgrown jungle – rather it was tidy and cozy in spite of its great size. There were even several large pools filled with floating plants and grindylows (water demons that Frida recognized from some of Andrea’s magical creature books). Frida could see herself spending many hours there during her stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadly, Frida had just settled into her chair when she realized that she was insanely hungry. It had been at least four hours since she had last eaten, and walking all over the manor had used up most of her energy. She would need to find some food, but she certainly didn’t want to trouble anyone. After all, Witley would be her home for an unforeseeable amount of time, and she would have to learn to fend for herself there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida reluctantly left her books on the table in her little corner, and set out in search of the kitchen. She was sure it must be somewhere on the ground floor, so it must have been close by. Frida was half way through the curving corridor that lead back towards the entrance hall when Tanya came walking out of a nearby room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida, dear! I had wondered where you were off too! Have you been learning your way around?” asked Tanya, stopping to the side and surveying her with mild concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I have,” said Frida, “I was just looking for the kitchens. I want to make something to eat if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry at all, dear,” said Tanya, taking Frida by the arm and leading her down the corridor. “There’s no need for you to go the kitchens. All you have to do is take a bit of parchment from a stack in the dining room, on the serving cart in the far corner, and write whatever you want to eat on it. Then, take the parchment and place it under the dome cover onto the silver platter. You can just take a seat at the table and wait a few minutes and your food will appear in front of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… okay,” said Frida, hesitantly. That certainly was not how it worked at Andrea’s house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help? I can show you if you like,” said Tanya kindly, stopping in front of the doorway to the dining room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s alright,” said Frida. “I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then! I’m off to talk some more with Bert about… necessary administration details,” said Tanya with a smile. “I’ll see you this evening at dinner. We eat at six, and don’t worry about wearing anything in particular – all of the robes that I leant you should do nicely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida nodded as Tanya walked away towards the entrance hall. She had not actually been worried at all about what she should wear for dinner, in fact, and she certainly would rather make herself a sandwich than to have a magic-made one appear out of thin air like a party trick. Frida wondered if the kitchen even worked, but she then remembered something she had read in one of Andrea’s history books which said that food could not be made out of thin air. The only way to figure out this odd system would be to simply find the kitchens herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This proved easier than she had anticipated, as she only had to follow her nose – a strong scent of coffee and baked goods drifted from a short, off-branching corridor where she located a discrete door tucked away at the end. She opened the door, which did not squeak in the least unlike the other doors, and slipped in the warm, fragrant room then stopped short. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen was as large as one would expect for an estate of Witley’s size, but neither the size nor the enormous wood-burning oven were what left Frida aghast. She had not put a lot of thought into who was working in the kitchens, but she never would have guessed that they were run by tiny creatures that were certainly not human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were less than half of her height and wore nothing but tea towels, draped around their little gangly bodies like togas. They had enormous eyes, long and flappy ears, To Frida, they looked a bit like small children with oversized, alien heads. Approximately twenty sets of eyes were fixed upon Frida as she entered. They had all frozen what they were doing, and before Frida knew it they were upon her, bowing and curtsying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the creatures stepped forward, in front of the rest, and bowed so low its long nose nearly touched the floor. It’s skin was wrinkly and it had little whisps of white hair atop its knobby head. He seemed to be the oldest of the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greetings, Madam,” croaked the little old creature wringing his boney hands together. “I am Wimbly, head house-elf here at Witley Court for the cooking and the housekeeping. What can we do for the Madam this afternoon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida stared around in surprise. The word “house-elf” sounded familiar, but she couldn’t remember having heard much about them. Some of the elves at the back of the group had already retook their positions at their workstations making trays upon trays of bread, scones, muffins, and croissants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er,” said Frida, finally looking back down into Wimbly’s watery black eyes, “I just came here to see if I could make myself a sandwich for lunch. Is there a place in her where I could – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elves all dispersed at once, bustling about with bread, lettuce, and tomatoes flying through the air of their own volition it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of sandwich did you have in mind, Miss?” squeaked a younger looking elf as it shuffled by with a large basket of ingredients. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you needn’t trouble yourselves,” said Frida, but it was clear that the elves had no intention of allowing Frida anywhere near the cookware. “Well, alright, if you really insist… I’ll have turkey, I guess. Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The younger elf beamed at her as it shoved a hefty turkey sandwich on her plate in record speed and pulled her down into a seat in front of a long wooden kitchen table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will the Madam be taking tea with her lunch?” wheezed Wimbly, standing beside her as another elf assaulted her plate with a heap of fried chips to go with her sandwich.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm, I’ll just have a glass of water if that’s alright,” said Frida, feeling a little overwhelmed with the way these little people were fussing over her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water for the Madam, Pokey,” said Wimbly needlessly to an elf across the room, as another elf had already placed a tall glass of cool water before her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, Mr. Wimbly?” said Frida, unable to contain her wonder at the scene before her. “Surely the Davies don’t eat this much food? It looks like you all have made enough food for the British Army.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wimbly stared oddly at Frida for a moment, as if he were trying to determine if there was something the matter with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Master tells Wimbly to make bread every day for several nearby orphanages and two charities. The Master likes us to donate what we can, he does,” said Wimbly, sounding rather boastful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s nice of him,” said Frida, though she was somewhat surprised. She wondered privately if Tanya had inspired his generosity, though it was hardly fair for her to think that; she barely knew the man and he had seemed quite busy whenever she had seen him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the Master gets his flour from a muggle farmer a mile from here. He supports the community, Master does,” said Wimbly, with a smug sort of smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I do hope he pays you well, because this cooking is excellent,” laughed Frida.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Master does not pay elves,” said Wimbly, matter-of-factly as he tapped his bare, flat foot against the floor patiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” said Frida, nearly choking on the chip that she was eating. “Why on earth not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elves do not wish to be paid,” croaked Wimbly, looking suspiciously at Frida as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> were the one talking madness. “That would be most improper, it would.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see…” said Frida, glancing at Wimbly one last time before turning back to her sandwich. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This must have been one of those strange, antiquated wizard customs that Frida found so perplexing. But even still, indentured servitude? And worse still, based on </span>
  <em>
    <span>species</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little later, Frida finally found her way back to her seat in the conservatory, but she found it difficult to focus on her reading. Customary or not, Frida had a hard time believing that a family as wealthy as the Davies did not compensate their workers for the spotless cleaning and supreme cooking that the elves provided continuously for the estate </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Mr. Davies’s charity projects. What would they really have to lose by paying their workers? Why hire a large group of individuals who refuse compensation? Andrea’s family got on perfectly without anything like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was so distracted, in fact, that she nearly missed the slip of parchment poking out from between the pages of the book she was trying to read, but as it slipped out and fluttered to the floor it caught her eye. She bent down, picked up the note, and unfolded it to find a short message written in a neat, cursive scrawl.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Frida, I hope you are enjoying your day exploring the estate. If you feel so inclined later this afternoon, I would invite you to take tea with me in the West sitting room at four o’clock. Enjoy your books. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><ul>
<li><em><span>Roger Cornelius Davies” </span></em></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, at least that would provide her with an opportunity to question Roger about the house-elves. She didn’t have a watch, so she would have to guess when it was approximately the right time and check the clock in the entrance hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about an hour and a half of reading, Frida got up and made her way to where she thought she had remembered seeing a giant wooden grandfather clock. She had been wrong, it had not been in the entrance hall, but stood just outside the dining room. It was three forty-five, so Frida figured that she might as well try and find the sitting room in the West wing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found it relatively quickly as a tapestry of a unicorn, that reminded her of a classical piece that she had studied in her Art History course in school, made her stop just outside of the open door to the sitting room. After admiring the very old-looking tapestry, Frida poked her head into the room where Roger already sat with his legs crossed, reading a book in a large and shiny leather armchair in front of the fireplace which was lit in spite of the pleasant weather outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” said Roger, seeming to sense Frida’s presence and turning to smile at her. “You’re quite punctual – my father would certainly approve,” said Roger glancing at his watch as if it had told him a cheeky little joke. He reached for a bell that sat on a small table at his side and rang it once. Tea and cakes instantly appeared on the little table between Roger and an empty chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a question for you,” said Frida as she took a seat next to Roger, who looked at her with a curious expression that border lined amusement. “I realize that it’s none of my business, but have I misunderstood that you all have approximately twenty unpaid servants running this place and preparing this very tea for us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger didn’t answer her at first; he just sat there sipping his tea regarding her with mild surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, to be perfectly honest, yes we do,” said Roger after a moment. “I’m sure there are many things about the wizarding world that must be quite confusing for you. Rest assured, the elves are quite content and well treated.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can that be?” asked Frida, positively appalled. “How did that ever get arranged? How can they be content if they are working for free day in and day out? Are they working towards something at least – like as indentured servants?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no – to answer your latest question,” said Roger. “Some of them were purchased, others have been with the house for several generations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>slaves</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” exclaimed Frida, hardly believing her ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it sounds bad,” said Roger, clearly trying to sound reassuring, “But this really is the best thing for them. Working at Witley Court isn’t so bad. There aren’t many people living here so they don’t have all that much to do. The ones at Hogwarts have an enormous load and I don’t believe that they have many more elves than we do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard to compensate them?” asked Frida, who was starting to feel quite heated. “You all clearly have more money than you can spend! They should at least be making minimum wage! How can they be okay with this? I had no idea that slavery was so commonplace still – and Hogwarts has them!? Why can’t you just free them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida, even if I wanted to free them, it would ruin them,” said Roger, defensively. “They would feel so ashamed that they might even toss themselves off the roof – I’m not exaggerating! The problem cannot be fixed at the household level, Frida. These creatures have been servants of wizards for hundreds of years. Somewhere along the way they developed a culture where servitude became an honor and being paid or freed was shameful. It certainly doesn’t help that even free elves do not have the same rights (if any at all) as wizards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These problems need to be worked on from the top down; the ministry should focus on granting liberties to non-human magical beings so that they might actually benefit from freedom. As it is, even if we did free them, they would not be able to find work nor could they likely find housing unless they went back to serving. There is too much wrong with the system for their mentality to change in any of their lifetimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” said Frida, taking a biscuit from the tray. She did find it all quite confusing, and maybe even above her head, but she did not want Roger to know that. In any case, she knew plenty about the wizarding world – just because she was just now finding out about the skeletons in the Ministry’s closet didn’t mean that she was completely out of the loop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Andrea understands it,” said Roger, nibbling on a biscuit. “Try not and judge us for it. As I have said, the elves here are treated quite well; their quarters are as nice as any I’ve seen, we put no limits on their day to day doings, and they get to live here! Look, since you asked and seem so impassioned about this, I’ll go and fetch you a book that you can read on the subject. Give me just a few minutes, I can fetch it in no time.”    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger stood up and strode out of the sitting room, leaving Frida alone with her thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~    ~    ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger supposed that it made sense for Frida to have difficult questions. She was in a new place, a wizarding home at that, and she was not used to the customs of running a wizarding estate (or an estate of any kind, really). It did not take long for him to locate the book he was looking for with his summoning charm, so he was back to the sitting room in less than three minutes and handed the book to Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here you are, </span>
  <em>
    <span>The History of House Elves</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” said Roger, smiling down at Frida’s skeptical brow. “This should help you get a grasp on the subject. I believe Andrea might have a similar book as well if you end up wanting to know more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of Andrea,” said Frida tensely, sliding the book next to her in her chair, “I’m worried about her. No one knows where she is, and now that the wizarding world is crumbling around us, who knows if she can get back home to us. She’s supposed to be on some risky mission. I can’t help but think that she might be in even worse danger than any of us, and she said she couldn’t write to us – that means we won’t get any word if she’s safe or not!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because she’s in Romania,” said Roger, simply. “Even before the collapse of the ministry it would be too conspicuous for her to send international owls while she’s got a secret task to complete. You really </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, knowing what country she’s in doesn’t really tell us that she’s safe, does it?” said Frida. “In fact, she’s going to be coming back too, so that’s miles and miles to travel before she even – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She can take care of herself, and since she’s an unregistered animagus, she’s safer than anyone else, I imagine. She’s a witch after all, don’t forget that. I can only imagine how confusing this must be for you to understand – you know, being a muggle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon has he had uttered his last statement, he knew that he had made a mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, believe me,” said Frida in a voice colder than ice, “I understand more than you could ever know. Do not think you can just sweep aside my concerns, Roger Davies. Do you forget what happened to my dad? How he was tortured almost to the brink of death just because he wasn’t blessed with abnormal gifts like the rest of you lot? Now tell me, how is it that you know where Andrea is and I don’t” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposed he should have known better than to point out her lack of magical abilities, but he just wasn’t used to interacting with muggles. He often forgot that she was not a witch herself, so pointing out her muggle status was more of a reminder for himself than anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well,” said Roger, trying his best to sound like he had not noticed her anger so as to potentially discourage further wrath, “She stopped by on her way East. She was flying in the area and came over for some food before crossing the English Channel. She had been quite busy with everything up until then. She didn’t have time to fly out of her way and she certainly couldn’t write her family the classified details of her whereabouts. Nothing personal, I’m sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida glared at Roger, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, for a few moments. He wondered if perhaps she was giving up her senseless attacks. He was sure he had never met anyone who ruffled so easily.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” said, Frida in a slow and dangerous voice, “Andrea came here to spend the afternoon with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, letting her in on all of her secrets. It’s curious…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whyever is that curious?” asked Roger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but it’s curious that Andrea is able to ignore your general tactlessness and trust you enough to confide in you and want to spend copious amounts of time in your presence,” said Frida with narrowed eyes. Roger was stunned senseless for a moment. “Don’t look at me like that. You shouldn’t be surprised, with the rude comments that you’ve been making to me in passing both yesterday and today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This – what you’re saying is most illogical!” said Roger, feeling somewhat flushed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, are you having a hard time </span>
  <em>
    <span>understanding</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” said Frida, contemptuously. “Let me help you – let’s see, where to begin? First, you insult my career and my socio-economic status (which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>pitiable, I might add), and you continuously rub my face in the fact that I’m not so blessed as to be born with magical powers. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and a wand in your pocket, so what can you really gain by putting me down all of the time? Second, you strut around this place like you think your God’s gift to humanity and that all who are graced with your presence should fall to our knees in thanks! Do you really treat all women like you think that we are born to admire you and your dumb Quidditch skills? And you have the nerve to disrespect my </span>
  <em>
    <span>trade</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you toss balls around the air for a living? ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>? No! That’s not fair, I – I…” stammered Roger. He found it hard to keep track of all of the accusations that she was throwing at him. All that he knew was that she was being quite unfair, and there was no need for her to raise her voice at him like that. “All of my closest friends are women,” said Roger, deciding to defend the point that stuck out to him most readily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying that you like to surround yourself with a troop of women so that you can constantly boost your ego?” snapped Frida. “You hang out exclusively with Andrea, Eliza, and Jamie, I’ve heard. No guy friends with all the Quidditch you play? Curious. I wonder if perhaps having a beautiful woman like Andrea in your presence makes you feel even more important. It rather makes me wonder if you actually care about Andrea at all or if she’s just an arm piece to you. It wouldn’t be the first time a man has taken advantage of Andrea’s good nature. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span> can you not be worried about her if you are really her friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger jumped to his feet, his head spinning and his palms suddenly quite clammy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that I don’t also love Andrea?” shouted Roger before he could stop himself. Frida’s eyes widened slightly, but her stony face remained fixed. “She’s my best friend, and you would do well to hold your presumptuous tongue before you begin casting judgment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger stormed out of the room without further ado. He raced through the West Wing corridor and up central stairs to his room on the third floor and shut the door behind him. He slowly sank into his armchair in front of his fireplace, squeezing his temples firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really should not have lost his temper like that. Frida had indeed crossed a line, but it didn’t do to react aggressively. Was he angry at her? Certainly. But from now on he would no longer try and be her friend. He would keep her at arm’s length. It’s what she clearly wanted anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated to admit it, but she had hurt him. If she had been offended by his words, she could have calmly told him so and he would have done his best to avoid doing so in the future, but she had decided to hurt him back. He had been told before that sometimes his choice of words was not always ideal, but his friends were usually patient with him. Whether she had already known about some of his insecurities from Andrea or if it had been simply chance, Frida had touched on several topics that Roger usually avoided dwelling on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger had just decided to put on his Quidditch robes and go out for some training, to get his mind off of Frida and her words, when Archie, Roger’s great grey owl, swooped into his room and landed on his knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a roll of parchment from his bird and gave him a scratch before he flew off, then he broke the wax seal which bore the Tutshill Tornados crest. He had wondered when they would reach out to the team regarding the events of the proceeding day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Roger, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope all is well with you and your family. I am writing each team member individually in lieu of delivering this unfortunate message personally. In light of certain events of the recent past, the team has been henceforth disbanded to give team members adequate ability to visit family or otherwise in these uncertain times. While we all were looking forward to another great season, the Department of Magical Games and Sports, along with myself, have agreed that this is the best course of action. We will let you know in due course if there are any changes. Best of luck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>- Brevis Birch</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger stared at the scroll a long time, until he finally let it flutter from his hands to the floor. So it was all over. His career, Quidditch, maybe even the world. Roger got up and began pacing his room in frantic circles. He finally tired of this and stuck his head under the cold tap in the bathroom. Quidditch had been his only hope of finding normality. It had been escape, his focus, and the only thing holding him together after the stresses of the last twenty-four hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrubbed his head hard with a towel and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair stuck up every which way and his face looked rather pallid. He looked awful. He couldn’t go back down and face his family now, not to mention Frida. He would have to calm himself down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He threw himself into his bed, not bothering to undress or pull the up covers. Perhaps when he woke, things wouldn’t seem as dreadful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~    ~    ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Frida’s mild surprise, Roger did not come to dinner that night after their fight in the sitting room, not that she particularly minded, nor did she see him at breakfast or lunch the next day. She had been rather harsh with him, but someone had to do it eventually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought she spotted him slipping past the dining room around tea time, after a long morning and early afternoon of attempting to relax in vain. There was only so much reading and wandering about that she could take before she began feeling idle, so after taking tea with Tanya, Frida decided to go back down to the stables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mark was as crotchety as ever and was not very impressed or pleased with Frida’s offer to help work in the stables and on the grounds each day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can handle the work myself just find, thank you very much,” he growled at her has he disappeared a giant pile of pony manure from the pony pen with a flick of his wand. “You’ll just get in the way. You’re a squib aren’t you? I have even less use for someone who can’t even do magic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida ignored Mark’s ignorant comments and busied herself re-shoeing a chestnut stallion in a nearby pen. He had grumbled a lot about this at first, but eventually he showed back up with a large barrel of hoof polish and brush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I s’pose you might actually know what you’re doing. I’ll admit it,” barked Mark, waving a dismissive hand at no one in particular. “I figured you were just a girl who fancied playing with ponies, but I stand corrected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean you don’t mind me working here?” asked Frida, using an instrument to pick compacted soil from the sole of the horse’s front hoof. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mark didn’t answer, he only barely glanced back at her as he meandered off and made an indistinct grunt. Frida took that as a yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida marched back up to the manor several hours later feeling thoroughly satisfied with her afternoon, and headed up to her room for a bath before going down to dinner. To her surprise, Roger was still not at dinner, so Frida was stuck making awkward conversation with Tanya and Bert. Tanya wasn’t particularly hard to talk to in general, but she, Bert, and Frida’s small talk seemed to emphasize the fact that the current circumstances in the world were far from normal rather than convincing her that nothing at all was amiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We love to take holidays in the Scottish highlands, I understand that the Novák’s cottage is quite near the border,” said Tanya pleasantly, seeming to be completely unaware of the empty seat where Roger’s plate and silverware sat untouched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is,” said Frida, glancing at Bert who was staring at Roger’s empty seat as if he could see someone that Frida could not. “It’s in the Northumberland National Forest, so Scotland is only a short bit away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” said Bert suddenly, getting to his feet and picking up his glass of whiskey. “I’ve got some urgent business to take care of. I apologize for my early departure. Tanya, Ms. Addams.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bert left the room, as Tanya stared after him with slight concern that instantly vanished once she noticed that Frida’s eyes were back on her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear,” said Tanya with a nervous laugh, “I suppose he’ll miss the sweet course! The bread pudding is just a delight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dessert, Frida excused herself to take a walk in the moonlit gardens before bed. She didn’t fancy staying in the manor at night, as sooner or later Mr. Foley’s ghost would surely descend from his towers to haunt Witley’s halls. Summer would be over in about a month, so she particularly wanted to take advantage of the pleasant nighttime weather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida wandered around the perimeter of the manor looking for the particularly pretty rose garden that she had found yesterday while roaming the grounds. It had roses of almost every color and size imaginable, yet they were arranged in such patterns that the variety did to take away from their elegance and beauty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes Frida found it. To her surprise, the bushes glowed softly, but not by any man made light that Frida could tell. She got closer to the moving lights and found that they were actually fairies dancing around the rose buds causing them to open up. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of a white rose with the sweetest smell when she froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Step outside son, I don’t want your mother to overhear,” said Bert’s voice somewhere behind Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slowly turned, but to her relief, there was no one behind her. Instead, she spotted a golden light coming from the doors of a balcony above her on the third floor. The risk of her being seen was slim, as they would have to look straight down at the ground through the thick darkness to spot her. She heard the balcony doors shut softly, and Bert spoke once more, his voice loud and clear in the darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you are no longer joining us at dinnertime?” said Bert ironically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No – I mean yes! Or, I mean, it’s not that,” said Roger in a strained voice that Frida was not familiar with. “I just fell asleep and lost track of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two days in a row? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sulking around the house the past two days,” said Bert derisively. “These times are trying for all of us, but you must learn to keep yourself together. We have appearances to uphold. Witley is a symbol of strength and continuity to the community. We must be stronger now than ever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, I got a letter yesterday evening… From the Tornados,” said Roger. “They have disbanded the team until further notice. I don’t know what that will mean for my career in the long run. It’s been what I put my focus into to give me the drive I need to get through. I don’t know if – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think perhaps this is for the best, son,” said Bert, cutting Roger off midstream. “Quidditch is a diverting pastime I’m sure, but now is the time to think about your future as heir of Witley. Every head of house for generations has brought something new and innovative to the estate and the higher wizarding community. Have you any idea what you will bring, Roger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, I passed all of my N.E.W.T.’s if that’s what you mean. I’m good at most subjects, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a professional Quidditch player. I worked hard to get to where I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son, I want you to listen closely to what I’m about to tell you. As much as it displeases me to have to present you with these truths, I am your father, so I must do so,” said Bert in a tone that made Frida doubt the truth of his last statement. “Lords do not </span>
  <em>
    <span>play</span>
  </em>
  <span> Quidditch, we fund it. Your career, short though it was, will win you points and connections with many important individuals. That is one advantage at least. I took no issue with you having your fun, but the time for fun and games has ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a grown man. Now it is time for you to prepare for your role of Lord of Witley Court. Your friends have all advanced in their careers. There’s the one girl at the Wizengamot, the other doing something for Faerie Fort preservation in Ireland with the government, and Andrea is working on classified missions for whoever employs her. These are </span>
  <em>
    <span>girls</span>
  </em>
  <span> Roger – excuse me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>women</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You can do better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not give me that look. I do not mean to say that your friends are not clever. Not at all. I simply must insist that you as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>man </span>
  </em>
  <span>step up to the obligations of your birthright, put forth effort into something worthwhile, and make valuable connections. Your friends are fair enough connections, I concede, but I would appreciate it if you were to come with me to the men’s club once this is all over and begin forging friendships with young men of your own age and status. It is crucial that you do so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you wouldn’t talk about my friends as if they were somehow inadequate. They are kind and intelligent and they understand me,” said Roger with an edge to his voice. “It’s not like – ”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Understand you</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Roger you are too emotional,” sneered Bert, sounding downright nasty now. “You always have been. I imagine that is why your only company is women, and yet you cannot hold a relationship for longer than several months. I do hope that you understand that frivolous dating won’t be tolerated as a master of this household. You must court and find someone to settle down with. I don’t care who, we don’t need the money, as long as they are someone presentable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to learn to swallow your feelings, Roger. These emotional frenzies you get into are unacceptable. I need you to be able to mix properly with the other peers of the realm – the male ones. Connections are what keep us influential. You must not fail to do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long silence where Frida stood, staring at her white rose, where she worried that they might of noticed her, but finally Bert spoke again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not ask much, Roger. Not much in the least. All I ask of your for the next year or two is to give some thought to what you can do for Witley. That’s it. Nothing more. You have ample time and resources. Then, we can discuss this again, and hopefully, you will have markedly improved by then. Now, tomorrow, I expect you at dinner, and I expect you to suppress your moping. You are a good man, underneath it all. Now you’ve just got to start acting like one.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to the balcony opened and shut. Bert had gone, but Frida was sure that Roger was still out there. She stood perfectly still. After a moment, she heard Roger give a soft, shuddering sigh above her. Could he be crying? It would not surprise her after what she had just heard. She was sure that Roger would not have wanted her to witness his and his father’s conversation, but she was glad that she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had seemed, after all that she had heard, that she had misjudged Roger. Maybe she really had been jumping to conclusions about him. Sure, he was tactless and clumsy with his words, but it was clear to her that there was more to him than met the eye. What’s more, she had been wrong to accuse him on not caring about Andrea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would have to apologize to him for her harsh words. She had been a bit mean, to be honest, and she knew well enough how to gracefully make amends for her sharp tongue. She had done it often enough in her lifetime. The more Frida thought about it, the less she understood why she had gotten so angry so quickly with Roger in the first place. She certainly had a temper, but usually it took a lot more to get her riled up. Perhaps it was because of their letter fights from almost two years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Frida heard the door to the balcony open and click shut once more, so she felt safe to sneak back up the steep steps into the manor and run back to her room at top speed so as to avoid running into Mr. Foley’s apparition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little later, Frida wadded up some cotton that she had found in the supplies under the sink and shoved them into her ears to help drown out Mr. Foley’s wailing. As she lay there in the dark hoping to fall asleep before the nightly noise in the corridors began, Frida couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Roger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She would try and be a little bit nicer to him from now on, but she would not give him any reason to suspect she had listened in on his conversation. The way Frida saw it, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Unexpected Visitors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Roger rose before dawn the morning after one of the most miserable evenings that he could remember. He decided to go for an early run to try and get his mind of his father and Frida. After getting lectured by each of them the day before, Roger could see now that the pair shared a similar opinion of him. Roger was accustomed to feeling misunderstood, but between losing his career and being told he was a useless, unsensible person by two of three people that he lived with, his mind threatened to rebel on him as it often had done in times of great distress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He headed out to start his usual route around the perimeter of the lake. He had run that trail more times than he could count, as it was a regular part of his Quidditch conditioning. He was determined not to let his form deteriorate, no matter how long it took for his team to reform – that is, if his father did not force him to give up Quidditch forever. He and his father were both very young. Roger could not see the point of talking about his inheritance nor his future role as Lord of Witley Court. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he was Lord, could he not do whatever he wished? It’s not as if it were in Roger’s nature to sit around eating bon bons all day long – he would surely find something useful to occupy his time. His father knew this about him. No, this wasn’t about his father having concerns that Roger would neglect his role as Lord. It was because Roger was not enough like him, and his father could not stand the idea of Roger being successful and content living his life differently than his father had mapped out for him. His father thought that made him weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He certainly wasn’t weak on the outside at least, thought Roger, as his thick, toned legs led his pounding feet across the firm earth along the familiar winding trail at the grindylow-infested lake edge. He was disciplined, body and mind, why wasn’t that enough for old Bert? He had left Hogwarts with top marks, he had landed himself a prestigious career, and he spent more time at home than anywhere else, yet his father forever behaved as though Roger was neglecting his family and their reputation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he was halfway around the loop, his blood had flooded his head, his lungs were pumping, and he had sweat dripping down his back, so there were little room for any thoughts to float about his head any longer. Amber morning rays were slipping through the thick clouds on the horizon as he rounded the last bend past his boathouse back towards the manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little over an hour later, the morning was bright and clear – perfect flying conditions. It was early enough to catch a quick breakfast without the danger of running into anyone, so Roger decided to take a quick breakfast before spending the rest of the morning training for Quidditch. That ought to surprise his father. He would show his father how much mind that Roger paid to his request to focus on assimilating to his father’s antiquated ways. Roger saw little point even trying to do what his father asked. It would certainly fall short of his father’s expectations whatever he did or didn’t do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger was in the middle of formulating retorts to his father’s imminent complaints about Roger’s daily activities when he stopped short two-thirds up the steps to the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, Roger suddenly realized that none other than Frida was sitting on the top step with her back resting against a pillar watching him. He almost hadn’t noticed her, so he thought it safe to simply pretend that he had not seen her as unexpected as her early presence might be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Roger, wait up,” said Frida, getting to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger could hardly believe that she had the gall to speak to him so casually after her discourteous behavior at tea the previous day. Roger would have to be the bigger man, as per usual. He stopped on the top step before wiping the sweat off of his sleeve and slipping his running shirt back on for the sake of propriety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” said Roger in his most dignified and well-rehearsed manner and walking up to her. “How can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” said Frida, staring intently up at him. “I was a bit out of hand yesterday. I’m sorry. I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean, and most of it came from a place of insecurity and maybe a bit of jealousy. That’s not to say that you didn’t offend me a few times, but I shouldn’t have handled it that way – especially since I could tell that it wasn’t intentionally done. I was especially wrong to say that you don’t care about Andrea. I don’t know anything about your relationship with her, and she regards you as one of her closest friends. I had no right to say what I did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger was stunned into momentary muteness. Yet he his shoulders inexplicably felt somewhat lighter. He began mumbling unintelligibly, trying to produce a quick response, but Frida stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am sorry, Roger” said Frida, placing a cool hand on his arm. “Would it be possible to start over?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, this was certainly a surprise. Roger had not anticipated any form of apology from Frida – in fact, it was quite seldom that he received a proper apology from anyone apart from his mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Frida,” said Roger after a short moment. “I accept your apology, and I would like to extend my own apologies for my part in what led up to our conflict. I appreciate that you understand that any offence offered to you was unintentionally done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Frida, letting her hand fall from Roger’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood for a moment in silence, and Frida turned and shielded her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the brightly lit grounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair weather today,” noted Roger, in attempts to put an end to their awkward silence which was steadily building between them. “Perfect flying conditions. I’ll be spending the rest of the morning training – though it is a little drafty for what I had planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida turned back to Roger with a curious furrow in her brow that almost seemed like concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” asked Roger, as Frida glanced around shiftily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing,” said Frida glancing up at Roger with a look of unmistakable pity. Did Bert tell them about Roger losing his position with the Tornados? “I’m just hungry,” said Frida, marching past him towards the front doorway before glancing back over at him. “Let’s eat, shall we? It looks like we both have busy days ahead of us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger followed Frida back into the house, and they were soon joined by Tanya at breakfast. Frida’s demeanor towards Roger had completely changed from the last few days. She was funny, warm, and wild – though as opinionated as ever. She remained so over the next few weeks, and Roger had even noticed that she had taken to the ill-tempered stable master, Mark. In fact, Frida spent very little time inside the manor; she spent most her time out in the fields and pastures with Mark. Mark and Frida’s new friendship was most unusual. For as long as he had known Mark, Roger had seldom seen the little wizard so delighted in his duties – a welcome change from his usual coarse and gloomy manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger, however, had not been so lucky with Frida, and it was not for lack of trying. She spent most of the daylight hours in the stables, so Roger had gone down to visit her from time to time. She had been courteous enough, but every time was too preoccupied with her work to pay him much mind. Roger found it most extraordinary that, with all of the time she could spend exploring the manor or reading in the library, Frida elected to work for free with some grumpy old man. Roger himself generally made quite a pleasant companion, if he only had a chance to show his merit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> In the evenings, Roger often found Frida tucked away in the conservatory drinking wine and reading. Sometimes he even joined her, but they talked very little as Frida was often consumed with her research on wizarding botany. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” said Roger walking into the conservatory carrying two cups of hot chocolate one Saturday evening, a couple hours past dinner. “No better way to celebrate the Autumn equinox than with hot chocolate, I think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” smiled Frida, putting down her copy of</span>
  <em>
    <span> One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi</span>
  </em>
  <span> by Phyllida Spore and scooting up higher in her seat. “Make this yourself, did you?” said Frida with a jibing smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, yes I did,” said Roger, with a hint of smugness that even he was aware of. “Wimbly was out of the kitchens so I was able to contrive my own, thank you very much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” said Frida, raising an eyebrow with a suspicious smile. “Sure you did. Anyhow, it’s good. Thanks for thinking of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” said Roger, kicking his feet back on a nearby stool, “I’ve noticed you’ve taken an interest in herbology. How come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the one subject in the wizarding world that I can practice,” said Frida over the rim of her cup of chocolate. “You don’t have to be a witch to be a herbologist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, that makes sense,” said Roger. He might have said more, but he was a bit weary of discussing her muggle-ness with her since their fight weeks ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida gave him a little smile and turned her emerald eyes back to her book, balancing her china cup precariously atop her knee. Roger watched her reading as he drank his cocoa, her eyes moving steadily down the book’s dense pages and occasionally jotting something down in her sketchbook that Tanya had given her a couple days before. Her hair was tied up in her favorite, mouse-buns style, and Roger watched as a blue glowing fairy drifted down from the floating ferns above to rest upon one of Frida’s buns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t seem to notice, as she played with the end of her quill between her teeth while she read. Roger felt a small warmth bubble in his chest, that had nothing to do with his hot cocoa, as he observed her. She was actually quite cute, really, in spite of her wild ways. Beautiful too. Roger found himself with his eyes lingering on Frida’s rosy lips as she licked the chocolate from their surface, and he suddenly found the conservatory much warmer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was he thinking!? He could not allow himself such liberties. Roger swigged back the rest of his hot cocoa and silently excused himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once back in the safety of his bedroom, Roger flung himself face-down onto his bed. There could never be anything between Frida and himself. Never. Roger had had many girlfriends, but few of them had really meant much to him. How much Frida meant to him was still uncertain, but it certainly was not of consequence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many years ago, at Hogwarts, Roger’s friends Andrea, Jamie, and Eliza had made friends with a Slytherin girl named Sam. Roger, naturally, began dating Sam, but once their relationship had run its course, Sam wanted nothing to do with Roger or his friends anymore. The experience had been so unpleasant for everyone involved, that Roger’s friends had made him promise never to involve himself with any of their friends, and he had heartily agreed after all of the drama that had ensued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida undoubtedly would be worse than anyone else, as she was Andrea’s best friend, and Roger doubted that Andrea would ever forgive him if a falling-out between Frida and himself resulted in driving a wedge between Andrea and Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger would simply have to think of other things. It couldn’t be that hard, after all, Frida wasn’t the only woman left in the world. And there was the fact that she was a muggle – though the power difference did not seem to bother Andrea’s parents (a muggle and a witch). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although it was still rather early, Roger stripped himself and climbed into bed to sleep off any residual thoughts about Frida, only to find that his dreams to be even more alarmingly full of such content. Roger awoke before the sun came up, feeling rather hot and clammy after a particularly vivid dream where Roger had found Frida in the stables snogging Mark on the back of a hippogriff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was only one thing that would make him feel better. Roger slipped on some trousers, hurried out onto the grounds, and jogged across the lawn towards the lake. The boathouse was just visible in the pale dawn glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alohomora</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” muttered Roger, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the keyhole which clicked loudly as the door swung open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger’s boathouse was the one place that he was sure to be left undisturbed – no one had reason to use it aside from himself. Therefore, its bare, wooden walls were adorned with posters from his favorite Quidditch teams, his own favorite Quidditch game plans, and various news paper clippings from the Daily Prophet which he had thought worth remembering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The workbench, which Roger seldom needed, was admittedly a bit of a mess, covered with scraps of parchment, several empty plates which he had failed to return to the house, and more than a few pairs of old socks which he had thrown aside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger sat down atop the bench and began unlacing his shoes. He tossed his socks beside the others, and busied himself with loosening the knot which held the nearest of his two rowing boats in place. Roger had been introduced to rowing by his great uncle Thaddeus some years ago. Though rowing was a muggle sport, Roger found that it worked muscles in his body in ways that he had yet to achieve in any other way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than this, Roger found it next to impossible to contemplate anything aside from the rhythmic motion of his oars propelling himself across the glossy emerald surface of Witley Lake. Roger was quite determined to drive all thoughts of Frida’s rosy lips and slender hands from his mind forevermore. He just had to sweat it out of his system. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been quite some time since Roger had taken to his boats, but in less than a minute, his arms, shoulders, and abdomen had recovered a familiar pace. He leaned forwards as his arms stretched out before him, and tilted backwards has he pulled the oar handles back to his hips with a great swoosh and rippling of the lake’s surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As beads of icy sweat rolled down his brow, he waited patiently for his mind to slip into the naturally anesthetic, meditative state which came with such grueling training. Time wore on, yet the tightness in his chest, which he had come to associate with Frida’s presence in his mind or otherwise, somehow remained in spite of his intense focus on the task at hand, making time seem to pass much slower and the muscles in his shoulders and abdomen ache sorely. After an hour or so of arduous labor, Roger finally resolved to give up and retire his vessel earlier than he had hoped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Shining with sweat, Roger heaved himself atop the work bench and hung his heavy head in his hands. He hardly understood why he was feeling so strained. Sure, he had lost his dream career and his father had treated him with more condescension than per usual, but Roger had a concrete plan to be the most fit player out there when the team finally reformed. That should have been enough to put his mind at ease. In fact, Roger felt little tension at when Quidditch crossed his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crack!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Young Master Davies, Sir!” shouted Wimbly, appearing out of thin air right in front of Roger and jumping quickly out of the way as Roger came crashing to the floor as he scrambled about in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good </span>
  <em>
    <span>lord</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wimbly,” panted Roger, lifting himself from the floor, “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Whatever is it!?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies, Young Master,” croaked Wimbly, wringing his boney hands together, “But the Master has asked Wimbly to tell the Young Master that the Master would like the Young Master to find the muggle girl and hide her, then report to the drawing room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger stared blanky at the withered old house elf for a long moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” said Roger, bewildered, “Hide her? Whyever should I do that? And where is she anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some queer folk have come to Witley asking questions. Many questions. Nosey questions,” said Wimbly with obvious distaste. “The Master has not told Wimbly why the Young Master should be the one to fetch her nor where the muggle girl is, but Wimbly thinks he heard someone poking around the Madam’s greenhouse when he was putting out the fire in the Red Room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger sat frozen as the realization of what was occurring dawned on him. The Snatchers had come looking for Frida. Somewhere along the way, Roger had forgotten that this might happen. Had they discussed it more, they might have contrived an action plan for when this day came, but it was too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Young Master must make haste,” croaked Wimbly, swaying nervously on the spot. “The strange wizards want to speak with everyone in the house – except of course the muggle girl. She you must hide and speak of her not says the Master.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” said Roger, hopping up, not bothering to put his shoes on. “Thank you, Wimbly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wimbly was gone and Roger made his way across the grounds towards the greenhouse in great strides. Once inside the greenhouse, he found Frida quickly, arm-deep in a Snargaluff plant and attempting to wrestle out a large pod. She was so busy fighting off the stump’s thorn-covered vines that she neither saw nor heard Roger enter. This suited Roger, as it would be most inadvisable for her to start chatting away, as she liked to, so close to the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger quickly slunk up behind her and slipped a regrettably sweaty hand over her mouth. He narrowly dodged an elbow to the solar plexus as she attempted to fight off her attacker and swallowed a scream which Roger had muffled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” said Roger, as quietly as he could into her ear and gently released her. She turned around at once and looked him up and down in apparent surprise at his shirtless, sweaty appearance and abrupt arrival. “Come with me,” he hissed, “Quickly now. We can’t be seen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing her hesitation, Roger grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her along in his wake, taking care to stay out of view of the manor’s many windows in the shadow of a small grove of trees all the way back to the boathouse. It was probably not the best hiding place, but he could think of nothing else of the moment. He yanked Frida through the boathouse doorway and quickly locked it behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger rounded on Frida as soon as he was sure that no one was following them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger what – ” started Frida.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have much time to explain,” said Roger, in a low voice  on the off chance that anyone was nearby. “The Snatchers are here. I need you to stay here. Be very quiet and if you hear anything, I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>outside, I want you to climb into the lake and hide under the dock. You can swim, can’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I – ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I have to leave now,” said Roger, shoving his shoes back on his feet. “I don’t know how long this will take, but I have to go up to the house and talk to them. I’m locking you in, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, I hardly know more than you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida opened her mouth to speak, but Roger turned on his heel and shut the door behind him. It was only when he was jogging through the entrance hall that he realized that he was still shirtless and wearing his rowing trousers, but it hardly mattered. He burst into the drawing room to, perhaps, the strangest scene he had witnessed at Witley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother was seated at the piano while his Father stood, arms crossed, in the middle of the room surrounded by three very rugged looking wizards who seemed to be questioning him relentlessly about something in the one of the Snatcher’s notebook. Mark stood, boots encrusted with manure, stood crossly by the fireplace. Two more snatchers were rifling through a chest by the fireplace, while Tanya watched on in clear upset. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All heads turned as Roger entered the drawing room. The witch and wizard by the chest stopped their digging and whispered something to one another. The group looked quiet dirty, as if they had been on the road for weeks living off of the land. This surely could not be true. Roger suspected that they were the sort who couldn’t be troubled to bathe even if they had a bad case of scabies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who is this?” asked the tall wizard with dark stringy cords of hair who was holding the notebook. He had a smooth, oily timbre. There was no mistaking who was in charge. He swayed slowly over to where Roger stood, looking him over as if he were hoping he would find something of value on Roger’s person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my son, Roger Cornelius Davies,” barked Bert, marching up to them. “He’s the last of our party. I suspect he was out by the lake. I had an elf send for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let the boy speak for himself, good sir,” said the man, taking a step closer to Roger and glowering down at him. “Have you a wand, boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, I do,” said Roger tersely, pulling his wand from his pocket for a moment before quickly restowing it. “Who’s asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am Scabior,” said the man with an unfriendly smile. “I am responsible for upholding new muggle policy for the Ministry.” Scabior waited for Roger to ask for further explanation, but Roger refused to engage in this preposterous act of his. “We have reason to believe that a particular muggle that we are tracking is within a twenty-mile radius of this area. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any muggles around here, have you chap?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not around our property,” said Roger, “There are quite a number of muggle villages nearby. I suggest you ask around there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the funny thing, now, isn’t it?” chuckled Scabior, pacing before them. “We have a Trace on this muggle. Someone did magic in close proximity to her not far from the main road. We’ve been searching the country for weeks. You lot are the closest wizards for miles, so don’t be surprised that we’re asking questions. What do you think, boy? Who could have done magic near that muggle if it wasn’t one of you or your elves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who can say,” said Roger, “If you knew where this muggle was, it shouldn’t be that hard to find them. This was weeks ago, you say? What on Earth makes you think a muggle on the run would stick around for so long. It is most discourteous for you all to call on us so unexpectedly and upset my mother so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The witch and the wizard by the trunk cackled loudly, and Scabior and the two other wizards exchanged amused smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to puff your feathers little peacock,” sneered Scabior, lighting a cigarette with the nearest candelabra. “We’re just covering all the bases. Now before we go on our way, we’d like to search the rest of the estate… just in case.” Several of the snatchers exchanged excited, greedy looks.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. That’s enough,” said Bert angrily. “I’ve tolerated this intrusive conduct long enough. You have overstayed your welcome. We have been more than courteous and obliging. If you have any further questions or leads, do not hesitate to send me an owl. Otherwise, Mark will see you out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long moment where Roger thought that the snatchers might refuse, but finally, Scabior extended a leather-gloved hand to Bert and shook it firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until then,” said Scabior, with a sly grin. With a curt nod, the other snatchers followed Mark and Scabior from the drawing room leaving an icy silence in their wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~    ~    ~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the initial shock of topless Roger dragging Frida across the grounds to stow her in his boathouse had worn off a little, Frida had decided to look through the Quidditch strategies that Roger had left out rather than pace anxiously about while she waited for any sign of someone approaching. Frida understood little of the game, but she still found Roger’s tactics remarkably clever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida no longer wondered why Roger had been captain of Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team for so long; he clearly had the brains and the brunt – he was the nerdiest athlete that she had ever met. She flipped through a stack of parchment on the workbench, pausing now and then when she thought that she had heard movement, but it had turned out to be the thud of the rowing boats bumping against one another or a squirrel in the leaves on the other side of the walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fingered through his notes, reminding himself of tasks to complete. It was strange how familiar his handwriting was to her, though, after all, they had easily written back and forth to each other two dozen times, bickering about petty nonsense. The fighting had been initiated by Frida, herself, when she found Roger’s Christmas present to Andrea to be rude and presumptuous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> bothered her all that much; she had mainly written Roger for Andrea’s amusement, but the arguments soon escalated and Frida truly didn’t mind having something to be irritated about during that particularly stressful time in her life. Sometimes it was just nice to have a reason to be furious about something petty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that she was living alongside Roger, their quarrels put behind them, Frida could hardly believe he had ever seemed that bad. Sure, he was often a little dense when it came to tact, but he was a nice enough bloke. In fact, Frida was certain that she hadn’t known another man like him. He was unusually sensitive for a guy and, when he wanted to be, he was more attentive to her needs than she was to her own. Frida also found it thoroughly  amusing to watch Roger try and seem inconspicuous about his frequent showing off when he was, in fact, as easy to read as a book.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly jerking her from her thoughts, Frida heard feet approaching. It didn’t sound like many feet, but their volume steadily increased as they crunched over fallen leaves. Was it Roger or a snatcher? Frida realized then that she and Roger had not come up with a signal to know when he had arrived. She froze briefly in a mixture of fear and confusion. If there was a chance that it was not Roger on the other side of the door, she had to hide. She knew all too well what might happen to her if she were caught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida quietly dashed over to the edge of the covered dock and lowered herself into the frigid water, doing her best not to splash. She took a deep breath, ducked underwater, and re-emerged underneath the dark underside of the dock. She could see the work bench through the gaps between the floor boards, but no one had entered the boat house yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> To make matters worse, Frida’s feet did not touch the ground so she had to tread water as slowly as she could so as to not make noise. It didn’t help that the water was greatly weighing down her robes, thin though they were. She didn’t much fancy attracting grindylows by thrashing around too much – drowning swimmers was one of their favorite activities, given the chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a minute or so, she finally heard the door creak open above her, but she still couldn’t see anyone from where she stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> it! Frida, are you here?” called Roger in a rough whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Frida as loudly as she dared, her voice reverberating between the dock and the water’s surface. “Down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can come out, Frida,” said Roger, creaking the boards above her as he walked. “They’re gone. Mark just locked the gate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida ducked back out from under the dock and held on to one of the rowing boats for support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about that,” said Roger from behind Frida. She turned to face him; he was squatted down and his bright blue eyes were heavy, looking down at her with unease. “I guess I should have shouted at you as I approached, but I was still thinking about those snatchers. Nasty bunch, they are. Here, give me your hand. I’ll help you out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida took his hand, and he hauled her up and out of the icy lake. The cool Autumn breeze, which had been quite nice before, was now unbearably frigid. Her teeth even began to chatter as soon as her squelching wet boots touched the floor. Roger whipped out his wand and flicked it at Frida. She felt a rush of warm air and, at once, found herself perfectly dry.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” said Frida, joining Roger to sit at the workbench. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They know you’re somewhere close by,” said Roger, solemnly. “I’m honestly shocked it took them this long to show up. I had quite forgotten about them to be honest. We should have had a plan ready for when this happened – I’m sorry for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I don’t think it was a bad plan, putting me in the lake,” said Frida, patting Roger on his shapely, bare shoulder. “I doubt anyone would have looked there. I might eventually freeze to death, but at least that would be better than being caught by them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any later in the year, you might have frozen,” said Roger, grimly. “Look, I don’t feel comfortable to go back up to the house yet, in case they decide that they’ve left a pocket watch or something. I know you must be feeling frightened still, but there are a few things I’d like to talk to you about yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida stared as Roger rubbed a hand through his messy, dark-brown hair. She had been afraid, but curiously, her attention was divided; she had always found Roger attractive, but for some reason she was acutely more aware of it all of the sudden. Roger was somehow even more enjoyable to look at when he was on edge, and she felt very little guilt in observing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I don’t mind,” said Frida, turning on the bench to face Roger properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, from the looks of things, the snatchers weren’t particularly satisfied with our story – not to mention I think they were considering looting Witley if they could manage, “grumbled Roger, meeting Frida’s eye. “They’ll be back, I’d wager. They were a filthy bunch. It looked like they might be gypsies on their days off. Imagine the damage a crew like that could do when given power by the new authorities.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, I expect you’re right,” said Frida, picking up her legs and crisscrossing them on the bench. “And when they come back, we will have a better plan. That is if they don’t come back later today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they won’t be,” said Roger quickly. “If they had wanted to make more of a mess they could of done today when they were here. They’re going to regroup with a better excuse to search our whole house. In the meantime, we’ll just have to try and make the best of things. Speaking of which, I don’t think I every really checked in with you to see how your stay has been – I realize that it’s kind of late to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been nice,” said Frida, flicking her eyes up to Roger’s. “My only complaint would probably be that your family’s ghost won’t let me sleep. Other than that it’s been good – Mark keeps me busy.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Foley’s been bothering you?” said Roger, raising his eyebrows. “That’s not like him at all to interact with anyone. Has he come in to your room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not like that,” said Frida. “He’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s so dramatic, the way he howls on every night, and, honestly, he still kind of creeps me out. I’ve not gotten used to being around dead people just yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” said Roger. “We can have you moved into the other wing. Wimbly will have it taken care of in an instant. He’s got great ears, he’s probably already on it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida couldn’t help but giggle a little at the idea of Wimbly with his ear pressed to the window listening out for any whim that ‘the Young Master” might have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” said Frida, staring up into Roger’s blue gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Believe me,” said Roger, adjusting himself on the seat and seeming to turn a little pink in the ears, “I guarantee the job is already done. I’ll have him show you to your new room when we get back up to the manor – in fact, I think it’s safe to say we can go back up now. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind some rest after this morning’s ordeal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” smiled Frida, as Roger got to his feet. Frida stayed where she was on the bench, and as she had predicted, Roger turned to her and offered her a hand up, though she hardly needed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day outside was overcast, fitting the general mood of everyone at Witley Court. Even Mark stopped in his tracks to stare nervously in Frida’s direction as she and Roger made their way across the grass to the front of the manor. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, Wimbly appeared with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> right in front of them, just as Roger had predicted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wimbly has prepared new quarters for you, Madam,” said Wimbly, bowing so low that Frida half expected him to topple forwards. Roger nodded and smiled at Frida as if to say “what did I tell you,” and made his way up the stairs leaving Frida with Wimbly. “Wimbly will show you the way to your room. He is sure that the Madam is tired from the nosey nasties poking around in family business,” grumbled Wimbly, leading his slow way up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good thing that the elf could apparate inside, otherwise he’d have a hard time keeping up with anything. He walked as slowly as Frida might have expected someone of his age to move. After some minutes, Wimbly slowly stopped in front of a door, quite identical to her previous door and all others in the manor, and pointed at the handle. The hair band that Frida had looped on the other doorknob had been looped around the new one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wimbly opened the door and motioned for Frida to enter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the Madam finds anything to her displeasure, please advise Wimbly,” said Wimbly with a quick bow before shutting the door behind Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Mr. Wimbly,” Frida called before slipping into an armchair by the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was only slightly bigger than the other and was very similar to the old room except the already crackling fireplace had two armchairs instead of one, and all of the furnishings were a mustard yellow instead of ruby red. Wimbly had kindly left tea with biscuits on the coffee table in front of the fire. Furthermore, this room had a balcony instead of just a window. Most importantly, there would be no more Mr. Foley. Overall, Frida was quite pleased with her upgrade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though she had found the incident with the snatchers quite alarming, she had expected something like that to happen eventually, and what she had pictured had been far worse. She hadn’t even had to see them, so distancing herself from what had happened wasn’t very hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long dinner, where Bert and Tanya had discussed new safety protocols with Frida at length well after Roger had already turned in for the evening, Frida made her way up to the third floor on the East wing to her new bedroom. She counted six doors, and found her door with the hair band on the eighth. She had just put her hand on the doorknob when the door to her right opened up, and Roger came striding out into the corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida!” said Roger in surprise, smiling at her somewhat stupidly. There was something off about him. Frida glanced down and noticed a half-drunk glass of wine in his hand. “I didn’t realize that Wimbly had put your room next to mine! I suppose that makes us flat mates now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” said Frida, giggling a little as she watched Roger sway a bit where he stood gazing at her. She felt her cheeks burning and laughed once more, but this time, at herself. “Good night, Roger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed the door slowly and stole one last glance through the crack at Roger, who stood staring broodily at her, before she shut it. Roger was funny – she would have to drink with him sometime, but not tonight. A minute or two later she heard Roger’s door click shut from the corridor. Thankfully, that was the last sound that could be heard from the corridor, so Frida was finally able to sleep soundly for the first night since she had arrived at Witley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After breakfast, Frida hurried down to the stables to see what work Mark could find for her, but when she arrived, Mark was waiting for her, leaning in the threshold with a tacklebox and two fishing poles at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s all this?” said Frida, jogging up to Mark, who had picked up the box and handed a pole to Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured we could stand a lil’ break,” said Mark, hobbling along past Frida, leading the way towards the general direction of the lake. “I’ve taken care of the most important bits, anyhow. You gave me quite a freight yesterday, girl. I thought they were gonna get you for sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, that’s sweet, Mark! You do care!” laughed Frida, receiving a grumpy sort of look from Mark, but she could see he was fighting back a smile. “You should know, I don’t know how to fish. Can’t you just flick your wand and summon some out of the lake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida caught movement out of the corner of her eye and spied Roger marching determinedly down the green in the other direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could but that would be pretty dull, now wouldn’t it?” snapped Mark. “It’s about the process. The sport of it. Come along, now! You walk too slow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mark finally put the tacklebox down beside him on a small footbridge which crossed a brook leading from the lake. Frida sat down beside him and shoved some bait on her hook, following Mark’s instruction. It took her a few tries to get her fishing line far enough into the lake for Mark’s liking, but finally, she succeeded and leaned back with a hand propping her up on the cool stone bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might get a few grindylows, but they generally don’t care for cheese, so I don’t expect we’ll catch many,” said Mark, bobbing his line with a practiced finger. “We’ve got some fine carp in this lake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quite relaxing. The weather was fine for an October day. Birds were chirping, leaves danced through the air in waves of orange, yellow, and red, and the sun fell warmly on Frida’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you go do Hogwarts, Mark?” asked Frida after a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did!” Mark groused, snagging his second fish in the last half hour. “How do you think I learned to use a wand, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What house were you in?” asked Frida, who was genuinely curious, but mostly found it amusing to give Mark an excuse to pretend to be indignant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hufflepuff,” grunted Mark. “What’s it to ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” said Frida, smiling to herself. “Mark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What house do you think I would be in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How should I know?! Do I look like a sorting hat? Why should you care anyhow. It’s not like it matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida giggled as Mark glowered at her, shaking his head in pretend disapproval. Just then, something big caught her eye. It was Roger, gliding across the lake in his rowing boat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There he goes again,” chuckled, Mark, lighting up his pipe with his wand.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger moved across the lake like a machine. He looked quite serious as his sinewy arms moved the great oars through the lake like a hot knife through butter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fit lad, ain’t he?” said Mark, who had apparently noticed Frida watching. “Too bad all of that strength isn’t put to any practical purposes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida made a non-committal noise in response, watching as Roger rowed out of sight. It really did seem like poor Roger wasn’t taken very seriously around there. A few hours later, Frida managed to catch a grand total of three grindylows and seven clumps of watermilfoil, but Mark had made up for her shortcomings with twelve fish of varying sizes and types. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fried them up on his campfire behind the stables and he and Frida enjoyed them as a late lunch with some chips and ale. After they cleaned up, Mark insisted that they were done for the day, but would allow her to come back later to herd up the horses and abraxen from the fields. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling thoroughly satisfied, Frida skipped up to her room to freshen up before taking tea. Remarkably, as though the house itself had read her mind, a hot bath had already been drawn for her when she entered her bathroom. She slipped into the steaming, rose-scented water and rubbed herself head to toe with a lavishly thick sea sponge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long bath, Frida slipped on a shining set of black silk robes that Tanya had graciously gifted her and threw open her balcony doors. During her bath, she decided to sketch the view of her balcony, including the intricate stone railings which lined it, so she dragged an armchair by the curtains just inside the threshold and took out a charcoal stick and her journal that Tanya had given her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida had just finished sketching the cloud-splotched skyline when to her surprise, her view was now blocked. Frida had barely thought about the fact that Roger’s balcony was only about a yard and a half from hers. He had come outside, dressed in only his underwear and was leaning his elbows on his railing looking thoroughly exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida guessed that he had just come out of his bath as well, as his hair was wet and the cool breeze swept in the faint scent of spruce and citrus. He hadn’t noticed that her doors were open, and Frida doubted that he would have any reason to suspect that Frida was sitting just out of view inside the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida bit her nail thoughtfully, as her eyes wandered freely over the ridges of muscles, from the two dimples above the waistband of his underwear, up the valley of his spine, to the peaks of the clusters of muscles that adorned his shoulders which twitched with his every movement. Frida flipped to a new page in her book and began to sketch her new subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He probably wouldn’t have minded being drawn, Frida supposed, but she much preferred drawing Roger with stealth. Anything sneaky was more fun, anyway, and this way she could admire his beauty without consequence. There was no harm in looking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the short minutes that Roger remained on his balcony, Frida found it increasingly difficult to capture Roger’s form without feeling hot around the collar. She wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a pervert or anything, but she the longer her eyes lingered on him or when she caught a glimpse of his pensive expression, she felt a jolt somewhere in her chest that made her feel oddly uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Roger finally turned back into his room, Frida felt her face burn as she got a quick look at his toned thighs and thought she saw the outline of something that she really ought not to have. As soon as Roger was out of sight, Frida jumped up and quickly shut the doors to her balcony and began pacing back and forth in front of her fireplace. Several times, she considered burning her drawing of Roger, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it every time she tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was wrong with her?! This wasn’t a big deal, but lately every time she thought about Roger she would feel a burning tightness in the pit of her stomach that she hadn’t experienced before. She wasn’t dumb. Despite never having had one, Frida knew enough from reading to know what a crush felt like. Frida wasn’t one to overthink things. Typically, if she wanted someone, she would find a away to get things moving with them, but no matter how many ways she thought about having a fling with Roger, she couldn’t even bare to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps these strange sensations were because she had been cooped up in the same vicinity with him for so long. She clung to this idea, though a voice in her head reminded her of the lad that she had slept with a few times when she was cooped up at Andrea’s grandparents’ cottage. She hadn’t cared about him for an instant. For some reason or another, something was different this time, and for now, she would have to do something she hardly ever did in such situations: she would have to restrain herself and analyze the situation further before any mistakes could be made.     </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After far too much deliberation, Frida decided to push aside all thoughts of Roger for the time being, and focus all her attention on learning about magical plants and working with Mark. Maybe by the time she could go home, if she indeed got out of this dangerous new reality alive, she could at least have something to show for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Midnight Music</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roger had found Frida’s presence in the room next to his quite distracting, though he hardly ever saw or heard her. He had lived in that corridor for nearly his whole life completely alone, as his parents’ bedroom was a couple floors down, so having a neighbor so close to his bedroom was something rather intriguing – and that neighbor just happened to be a young, beautiful woman that Roger had spent many an hour trying not to think about lately.</p><p>Repressing certain unseemly thoughts, of which he usually reserved for women that he was currently involved with, had been less of a challenge than preventing himself from analyzing any feelings he might or might not have about Frida. He was reminded of her presence, as if he could forget at this point, each morning as he walked out of his bedroom to have breakfast. Frida’s sweet scent still clung to the air in her wake, as she tended to get up earlier than Roger these days.</p><p>As per usual, Roger’s methods of avoiding distressing topics involved excessive physical activity during the day and reading and perhaps drinking a little more wine than he should in the evenings, but that still couldn’t erase the tightness that he felt in his chest when Frida’s bright, musical laughter echoed across the grounds and filled the once-subdued halls and rooms of Witley Court.</p><p>Needless to say, Tanya also seemed to be in better spirits whenever Frida was around to freshen the atmosphere. Unbelievably, even his father was slowly becoming somewhat taken with  her, as he had caught him smirking to himself behind his newspaper one evening at dinner, while Frida chatted with Tanya and Roger, when Bert didn’t know that anyone was looking. </p><p>This morning, Roger decided to attempt a different approach to free his mind from distraction. He planned on going for a ride on his chestnut mare. It had been quite a while since he had ridden, and it would give him a chance to talk to Frida about a subject that she would certainly be eager to discuss. Maybe she would even join him for a ride, if she wasn’t intent on trudging around in the mud all day with Mark as she usually did.</p><p>Roger slipped out of his room in his riding gear, taking a deep breath of Frida’s lingering sugary perfume as he made down the corridor for his morning coffee. When he got to the dining room, Tanya was predictably sitting alone with her bowl of porridge, balancing a novel in her left hand as she ate.</p><p>“Good morning, my dearest,” she said, as Roger sat down to his coffee and a hefty pile of toast. “You’re going for a ride! How wonderful! Perhaps if you have the urge again tomorrow, I could join you – it’s been too long. Frida is already down at the stables again today. You just missed her. She is truly an extraordinary young woman, isn’t she?”</p><p>“Hm, quite,” said Roger taking a large mouthful of toast and ignoring the knowing twinkle in his mother’s eye.</p><p>“I am sorry that she has been estranged from her family for so long, but I must confess, she has added so much color to Witley,” said Tanya dreamily, gazing out the great central window of the dining room. “I have enjoyed having another woman around since no one is coming to call these days.”</p><p>“I’m glad, mother,” said Roger, swallowing a gulp of bitter coffee as well as swallowing a warmth that had been creeping up from his stomach with all this talk of Frida. “Have you seen the morning paper?”</p><p>“Your father took it up to his study, I believe,” said Tanya with a frown. “I’m afraid to say that there hasn’t been any good news. Try not to trouble yourself with that, my darling. We are doing the best that we can. Why don’t you go out for your ride now?”</p><p>“Yes, I – ”</p><p>Roger stopped suddenly and turned to the window. He had heard a shriek, he was sure of it.</p><p>“Did you hear that?” he said, looking at his mother.</p><p>“No dear, what do you – ”</p><p>A loud, deep shout followed by several other indistinguishable voices could be heard somewhere outside. Roger peered out an open window, but could see nothing. Something wasn’t right. This time, the shriek came again, but closer. Frida. With his heart pounding in his ears, Roger sprinted from the dining room towards the front door, his mother close on his heels.</p><p>Roger threw the doors to the entrance hall open and frantically scanned the grounds from the top step, but sooner than he had anticipated, he spotted her. There were a total of eight people on the lawn just beyond the front fountain. Three were already on the ground while Mark battled two others, and to Roger’s horror, one had his nasty, snatcher hands around Frida’s neck.</p><p>Roger cursed himself for leaving his wand up in his bedroom as he sprinted towards the scene ignoring Tanya’s pleas. They were many yards away, and Mark managed to stun another snatcher as Roger charged nearer. He was just to the fountain when, Roger’s heart stopped. Blood spouted and sprayed, disturbingly like the fountain before them, from the snatcher’s neck, as Frida fell back on the ground at his feet. Her right arm was dripping with blood from her hand to her elbow.</p><p>By the time Roger reached her, the blood-soaked snatcher had toppled to the ground, rasping and gurgling incomprehensibly, and Frida was staring down at her trembling hand which grasped a small, but very sharp knife.</p><p>“Frida, are you alright?” gasped Roger, falling to his knees beside her and examining her neck where the snatcher had been squeezing. It was pink.</p><p>“I – I…” said Frida in a soft, quaky voice, her eyes swimming. “I killed him…”</p><p>“No, no,” said Roger quickly glancing over his shoulder at the gasping snatcher, “You didn’t, but you got him off you and that’s all that matters.”</p><p>It was true enough, he wasn’t dead yet, but he would be in a few moments by the look of it, but Frida didn’t need to see that.</p><p>“Hey. Hey! Look at me,” said Roger, grabbing Frida by the shoulder and gently forcing her to tear her eyes away from the gruesome scene before them. “That’s it, good. Look into my eyes, that’s right. Everything is okay now. Mark took care of the last of them. You’re safe.”</p><p>Frida’s glistening, heart-breaking green eyes stared desperately back into Roger’s for a long moment, before they flicked back to where the bloody snatcher lay motionless on the blood-stained grass beside them.</p><p>“No,” said Roger softly, turning her chin with his finger so that she had to look at him again. “Don’t look at that. It’s okay. Let’s get out of here, alright?”</p><p>With a short nod from Frida, Roger hoisted her from the ground by her blood-free arm and wrapped his arm around her waist to support her.</p><p>“You alright, Mark?” Roger asked, interrupting Tanya’s interrogation of Mark as she dug for details about how the snatchers got in. Roger would very much like to know that as well, but now his concern for Frida greatly outweighed his curiosity.</p><p>“Yeah,” puffed Mark, wiping a film of sweat from his brow with his arm and looking Frida up and down with great concern. “Don’t worry about me. Jus’ get her fixed up.”</p><p>Roger turned and led Frida back towards the manor just as Bert came striding down the front steps scowling at the scene before him.</p><p>“What happened here?” asked his father as they passed each other going up the stairs.</p><p>“Not now, Dad,” said Roger, pushing past him. “Mark can tell you. He’s talking to Mother now.”</p><p>Roger did not wait for a response and kept going without looking back. As soon as he passed through the threshold, Wimbly and two other elves appeared before him.</p><p>“What does the Young Master require?” croaked Wimbly, his bare feet flapping against the floor as he tried to keep up with Roger. “Does the madam need medicine?”</p><p>“Wimbly, thank you, yes,” said Roger quickly, as the two younger elves pushed Frida from behind to keep her from wobbling about. She was in shock and didn’t seem to be very conscious of what was going on. “Please get her a bottle of Draught of Peace from downstairs – and draw her a hot bath with syrup of Hellbore and valerian if you will. And bring the bruise paste.”</p><p>With a nod and a <em>crack</em> Wimbly disappeared, leaving Roger with the young elves to bring Frida up to her room. By the time that they set her down by the armchair near the fire, Wimbly had already drawn the bath and was waiting for them holding a violet, uncorked bottle and a tablespoon.</p><p>Frida’s head swung limply to a side as they set her down, her eyes distant and cloudy. Roger took the spoon and bottle from Wimbly and poured a liberal, blue tablespoon of Calming Draught for Frida. He placed his hand at the crook of her neck and urged her forwards to take a sip from the spoon, which she swallowed without protest.</p><p>“Wimbly, the bruise paste, please,” said Roger still supporting Frida’s delicate neck with one hand as he took a bright yellow paste on two of his fingers and gently smeared it along the darkening line around Frida’s fair throat where that filth had grabbed her.</p><p>“Mmm,” Frida moaned slightly, her eyes fluttering shut.</p><p>“It’s alright, Frida. We’ve just given something to calm your nerves,” said Roger before turning to the younger elves. “What are your names?”</p><p>“Biffy and Tollie, sir,” squeaked one of the elves, rushing forward eagerly.</p><p>“Biffy and Tollie, can you please see that Frida gets safely in and out of the bath?” said Roger, glancing at Frida who seemed to be nearly asleep. “Please put her in her bed once you are finished let me know when you are done. I’ll be waiting in my room to come and check on her.”</p><p>The two elves immediately obeyed, lifting Frida from her seat with a surprising amount of strength for their tiny statures and Wimbly croaking commands at them all the way to the bathroom where they shut the door behind them.</p><p>Remembering himself, Roger hurried out of the room and back to his own. Once alone, Roger could not sit still. He paced back and forth across the room in front of his bed, his mind racing. Frida had killed a man. He had it coming to him, but Frida was no murderer. It was clearly self-defense, but the shock of such an occurrence was not something that she would be able to get over in an afternoon.</p><p> It had disturbed Roger deeply as well, as a matter of fact, but he was too caught up in Frida’s safety to pay much attention to the dying man. If Roger was alarmed, as distanced as he felt from what had happened, he could only begin to imagine what Frida must be experiencing.  </p><p>The question still remained: what was to be done about the dead man? Who was he to the Ministry? Would he be missed, or was he just a traveling, good-for-nothing? His father would surely wipe their memories after questioning them with a bit of Veritaserum (truth-telling potion) from their potion stores, but where would they go once they were released?</p><p>“Young Master Roger, sir?” said a squeaky voice behind him, causing him to jump, having been shaken from this thoughts. “She is in bed, she is, Master.”</p><p>“Thank you, Biffy,” said Roger, hurrying past Biffy and pushing through into Frida’s room once more.</p><p>Wimbly and Tollie were pulling the covers neatly over Frida’s shoulders. With the curtains open, the glow of the late morning sun crowned Frida’s golden head, her locks spread freely across the crisp white sheets. He had never seen her with her hair down, and sleeping peacefully in her four-poster canopy bed, Roger thought she looked very much like a faery maiden.</p><p>“Wimbly has tended to the Madam the best that he could,” said Wimbly in a raspy whisper. He pointed to Frida’s slender neck where the bruise from her attacker had nearly vanished. “Wimbly thinks that with a hot meal, the madam will feel rightly quite soon.”</p><p>“Thank you, Wimbly,” whispered Roger, dragging a chair to sit at Frida’s bedside. “Please tell Father that I will be down shortly.”</p><p>“Yes sir,” said Wimbly quietly, shuffling from the room in front of Biffy and Tollie and speaking to his companions in hushed tones. “The Young Master trusts Wimbly with all his important tasks.”     </p><p>Roger sat for a while in silence watching Frida’s chest rise and fall as she breathed softly. The breath that had almost been taken from her, and Roger would have been powerless to stop it from happening. Frida shivered in her sleep and let out a small groan, so Roger retrieved a duvet from the wardrobe and laid it over the bed, pulling it up to her chin.</p><p>She was so lovely in sleep; her skin glowing in spite of her trauma and her eyelashes resting softly just above her high, freckled cheeks. Unable to resist, Roger brushed a thick lock of golden hair, which threatened to fall into her face, back from her forehead. Her hair was even softer than it appeared. Frida stirred in her sleep and shifted her head from side to side.</p><p>He had indulged himself for long enough. As much as it pained him to leave Frida alone, he needed to know what had lead up to that morning’s unforeseeable events.</p><p>~      ~      ~</p><p>Frida opened her eyes, and with a jolt found herself in a bedroom that was not her own. She sat up suddenly, and saw the ornate crackling fireplace and a bowl of steaming porridge before her. It took her a moment to remember that she was not in her London apartment, but at Witely Court as she had been for the last couple of months.</p><p>She gripped her throbbing head with both hands, elbows propped against her knees and fought to remember what had happened. The last thing that she remembered clearly was chasing after a loose hippogriff with Mark. It had been spooked, when Frida accidentally dropped the large stack of metal treat-trays that she had been carrying, and it ran from its paddock and swooped over the front gate from the grounds.</p><p>Mark followed after the hippogriff while Frida waited behind with a rope for when Mark came back, but when he did return, he and the hippogriff came running back through the gate with a group of snatchers hot at their heels. They were so close, in fact, that Mark didn’t even have time to shut the gate behind him with his wand, so he instead shouted for Frida to run.</p><p>From then on her memory went hazy, like some sort of nightmare that she couldn’t quite remember but couldn’t shake the feeling of. She strained her mind with all her might. Roger. Roger had been there. He had helped her somehow – she remembered his soft, blue eyes and dark lashes. He had taken her away from something… something involving blood. Lots of blood.</p><p>Her hand slowly drifted up to her throat. It felt a little stiff but otherwise normal, but she the vague memory of thick, grubby fingers around her neck slowly drifted back to her. She had stabbed him. She was certain of that now. Did he live? Who could tell, but Frida suddenly decided that she did not want to know.</p><p>After a while, Frida pulled herself from bed and went over to the little table to eat the porridge that had been left for her. Frida looked out the window. It seemed to be mid-afternoon. She must have been out for a while, and somehow she had gotten into her nightgown. Taking a large mouthful of porridge, Frida walked out onto her balcony.</p><p>The grounds below were as silent as ever. There was no sign of any conflict that she could see. That was a good sign at least. She had mostly pieced together what had happened in her head; the snatchers had shown up again, but this time succeeded in catching her, but Mark and she had fought them all off. Stabbing that wizard had been necessary, and chances were, he probably would have done worse to her given the chance.</p><p>She would have to drive that from her mind. Would she need therapy after this? Probably. Her therapist would definitely think she had lost her mind if she told her <em>all </em> the details of the wizarding world, but Frida could leave those parts out probably. In any case, she wouldn’t be able to go see a therapist for a long time, so she would have to do her best to forget the day’s events.</p><p>“You’re awake,” said a low voice not far off.</p><p>Frida turned to find Roger leaning on his balcony some fifteen feet away swirling a whisky in one hand and watching her.</p><p>“How do you feel?” he asked, as Frida walked to her balcony railing to talk to him more easily.</p><p>“I’m alright,” said Frida folding her arms across her chest as she became more aware of the transparency of her nightgown. “Are they gone?”</p><p>“Yes, they’re gone,” said Roger gravely. “My father interrogated them. They had very little to say that we couldn’t already guess. That the Trace is still on you and that they’ve been camping in the woods outside the grounds for some time hoping that you would come out. They had a feeling that you were here, hidden by the Manor’s protective enchantments. They had hoped to storm the manor and steal as much as they could. They do not work directly for the Ministry, they are more like bounty hunters. They said no one outside their party knew they were in the area, so we are safe. Their memories were wiped and they were sent off, not having a clue who or where they are.”</p><p>“What about the guy that I… attacked?” asked Frida tentatively.</p><p>“You mean the wizard that almost killed you?” said Roger furrowing his brow. “He’s gone. Vanished. Don’t worry about him.”</p><p>“Did I kill him though?” asked Frida, unable to stop herself.</p><p>“Does it matter?” Roger replied, raising a dark eyebrow.</p><p>“I… Does it?” asked Frida, her words catching in her throat.</p><p>“No. It doesn’t, if you ask me. He would have killed you. He was scum. You have nothing to regret nor to worry about,” said Roger with resounding finality.  </p><p>They stood in silence for a long while, staring out at the blustery grounds. Frida shivered involuntarily, but not entirely because of the cold.</p><p>“You should go inside,” said Roger softly, still gazing off into the distance. “You could get ill.”</p><p>“Roger,” said Frida, suddenly making up her mind.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Can I have one of those?”</p><p>“What?” said Roger looking thoroughly perplexed.</p><p>“Those,” said Frida, pointing to his tumbler of whisky.</p><p>“Oh, sure,” said Roger, straightening up. “Are you sure that you feel well enough?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure,” said Frida darkly, “I’ll be right over after I get myself dressed.”</p><p>“Oh, er, alright,” said Roger with a shaky laugh, stuffing his empty hand in his pocket and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll be here. Just knock and I’ll get the door.”</p><p>Frida smiled gratefully at him, then shut her balcony doors behind her. A drink or two should do her good. It would help her to forget about today’s troubles, which really shouldn’t have happened in the first place. She quickly changed into a set of deep purple, velvet robes that made her think wistfully of Andrea and her company.</p><p>Frida checked the clock that Tanya had put in her room. It was nearly four o’clock. If she was lucky, they’d get at least an hour and a half of drinking in before dinner… Hopefully Bert wouldn’t notice it too much if she got drunk.</p><p>Once dressed, Frida hurried out of her bedroom without bothering to fix her hair, and rapped quickly on Roger’s door. The door unlatched and swung open on its own (Roger had presumably used his wand), so Frida stepped into Roger’s toasty warm room and glanced quickly around.</p><p>He had an enormous bed with black and gold bedding, a wardrobe and fireplace like hers, and to her right he had a desk which was stacked with books, parchment, candles, quills, and a large jar of liquorish wands. As she made her way past the desk to the balcony, Frida noticed a piece of parchment spread open on his desktop that had a scrawl which looked very much like her own.</p><p>She resisted the temptation to stop for a peek, and instead stood in the balcony doorway to find that Roger was still standing exactly where he had been minutes ago.</p><p>“Hey,” said Frida.</p><p>“You were fast,” said Roger, turning around to face her, his eyes resting on her throat. “Do you feel any pain?”</p><p>“Not anymore,” said Frida picking up an empty tumbler from Roger’s nearby liquor shelf. “Nothing that a little Firewhisky can’t fix.”</p><p>“You’ve had this before?” asked Roger, raising an eyebrow. “What am I saying – of course you have. You’re friends with Andrea after all. So you know how strong it is.”</p><p>“Sure do,” said Frida, helping herself to a liberal portion. “I deserve it after today. Do you mind if we go indoors? It’s too cold out for me.”</p><p>“Oh, of course, after you,” said Roger, motioning for Frida to sit by the fire. “By the way, I’ve asked Father to excuse us from dinner tonight. I thought we could have food sent up to our rooms later, in light of what happened today.”</p><p>“Oh good,” said Frida, thankful that she wouldn’t have to recount today’s disaster to Tanya and Bert that evening.</p><p>Frida sat herself comfortably in one of his cushy, leather armchairs and took a long sip from her glass. She closed her eyes as she felt the amber goodness scorch its way down her throat and warm her belly.</p><p>“Ahh, that’s better,” sighed Frida, opening her eyes to find Roger sitting across from her watching her carefully over his own glass of whisky. She was feeling more at ease already. “How come your room is so much warmer that mine? That’s hardly fair,” said Frida teasingly.</p><p>“Is it?” asked Roger. “I hadn’t noticed. I hope your room is comfortable, I can get Wimbly to – ”</p><p>“Oh, come off it, Roger,” laughed Frida, leaving Roger looking a bit surprised. “You know well enough that this is the most comfortable place I’ve ever stayed at. Thanks for asking, though. You really don’t have to act so formally with me all the time, you know? We’ve known each other for a while now, and I know you’re not as stuck up as you pretend to be. You let your guard down more often than you think.”</p><p>“<em>Well</em>!” said Roger, raising his eyebrows indignantly. “Alright then, I <em>will</em>. You certainly don’t tiptoe around matters do you? I can tell you that ever since our disagreement, I’ve been doing a lot of tip-toeing as to not offend you, so pardon me if I come off as “stuck up!”</p><p>“I know you have, Roger,” Frida chuckled, smiling kindly at him as the whisky lifted up her spirits. “I’m just messing with you. I like messing with people. That’s one of the many reasons I like hanging around Mark so much. He’s easily irritated. Plus he secretly likes it, which makes it all the more fun.”</p><p>“Hm, I see,” said Roger smirking to himself. “I did wonder why you liked to spend so much time with him. Yeah, I suppose I did notice you like to fight and spar a bit. Mark likes you a lot, actually. I haven’t seen him so cheerful in a long time. You seem to have that effect on most people here, actually – Mum adores you. But I’d wager you don’t hang out with Mark just because you like to see him riled up.”</p><p>“I like being outside,” said Frida thoughtfully. “It makes me feel better when I miss home.”</p><p>“How long has it been?” asked Roger seriously, leaning forward to look intently into Frida’s eyes. “Since you’ve been home?”</p><p>“A long time…” said Frida softly, thinking back to her London apartment. It felt like a lifetime ago that she was living city life; going out for drinks with the girls after work and coming home to her family in their own home in the evenings. Visiting Andrea on the weekends when she wasn’t away at school. “A couple years already. I can hardly believe it.”</p><p>“That is a long time,” said Roger thoughtfully, pulling back and staring into the fire.</p><p>They sat in silence for a while, just sipping at their tumblers and watching the fire crackle and pop. Frida glanced over at Roger. He looked surprisingly elegant, sitting there with his whisky, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, and tracing the bumpy crystal bottom of the tumbler with his thumb. Frida felt her face burn as she remembered what he had looked like under his thick wool robes when she had accidentally spied on him on his balcony the other day.</p><p>He must have sensed her watching him, for his blue eyes darted from the fire to Frida without turning his head.</p><p>“What do you miss most?” asked Roger suddenly, as if they had not been silent for the past couple of minutes. “About living in your world?”</p><p>“Hmm,” said Frida, biting her thumb and smiling mischievously at Roger. Her drink was making her feel especially flirty, and she wasn’t about to hide that. “Apart from the freedom to come and go as I please? My cassette player – music. I haven’t heard a spot of music for two whole years! Except when Radhika would play some horrible romantic caterwauling rubbish on the wizard radio at the cottage. That doesn’t count though.”</p><p>“That is a long time,” said Roger, rubbing the slight stubble on his chin. After a moment, his eyes lit up. “Would you like to hear some now?”</p><p>“This isn’t going to be like the time with Mr. Foley is it? No band of ghosts in the attic?” laughed Frida.</p><p>“No,” said Roger, getting to his feet and extending his hand to her like he often did. “This you’ll enjoy. Follow me.”</p><p>It was funny how Roger liked to drag her around Witley by the hand. He had done so on several occasions as of now, but then, there had been good reason to – be it danger or otherwise. At the moment, there didn’t seem to be any reason why he shouldn’t let go of her hand as they walked down the stairs to the second floor corridor and through several winding passages, but his hand was warm around hers and she secretly found it quite pleasant.</p><p>In fact, it made her feel a bit like she had several flower fairies dancing about in the pit of her stomach, and the boost from the whisky gave her an extra spring to her step as she shuffled along beside Roger. Finally, he slowed at the end of a narrow corridor and let Frida in the room in front of him.</p><p>Frida entered a small sitting room, with light-colored furnishings and filled with many plump sofas in a semicircle in front of the hearth. Around the perimeter of the room were more musical instruments than Frida could identify. There were fiddles, small drums, large drums, guitars, a variety of intricate wind instruments, a piano, a harpsichord, and so much more.</p><p>“Wow,” breathed Frida, looking around the room in awe.</p><p>“Do you play anything?” asked Roger, watching as Frida surveyed the many instruments before them.</p><p>“No, sadly,” said Frida, poking the key of a harpsichord with a resounding <em>cling</em>. “Do you?”</p><p>“A bit of this and that,” said Roger, shrugging. “I won’t bore you with that tonight. There’s something else that I am more eager to show you.”</p><p>Roger walked over to the mantelpiece, nodding his head with a jerking motion for Frida to come over. He lifted a gramophone from the mantle and placed it on a little table, then gave it a tap with his wand. The gramophone sprung to life, emitting a soft bouncy nineteen-twenty’s American jazz.</p><p>“What do you think?” said Roger enthusiastically. “Does this satisfy your craving for music?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” said Frida taking a large swig of her whiskey and bobbing around the open area at the center of the room. “This you can dance to! How I miss going out to dance! I love it!”</p><p>Roger stood smiling endearingly at her and swaying awkwardly on the spot as if he had a little stage fright.</p><p>“Come <em>on</em>!” said Frida, rushing over and grabbing both of Roger’s hands. “You can’t let me dance by myself like a crazy person! Don’t tell me this doesn’t make you want to move!”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I usually have to have a little more whisky than this to want to dance,” Roger chuckled, his arms semi-limp in Frida’s grasp as she attempted to force him to dance.</p><p>“Too <em>bad</em>!” said Frida with a mischievous giggle. “You <em>have </em>to! I’m the guest, remember? I get to decide what we do!”</p><p>“Oh really?” said Roger, submitting somewhat more to Frida’s bouncy dancing. “Last I looked you were always saying how you live here and didn’t want to be bothered with our fussing over you.”</p><p>“Well today is different,” said Frida, determined to force Roger out of his semi-composed self for once. “Just dance with me!”</p><p>After a minute or two, Roger was laughing loudly with Frida, twirling her about to the light music. He was quite a good dancer after all, and he was so much more fun to be around when he completely dropped his guard.</p><p>Thankfully, when the exuberant song ended, a slower song followed, giving them a chance to catch their breath. Roger tried to pull away from the slow dance, but Frida giggled, winking at him playfully, and put his arms around her waist as she looped hers around his neck.</p><p>“Come on! Don’t be <em>shy</em>, Roger,” Frida giggled, staring up into his blue eyes which were glancing nervously about the room as if looking at her would somehow be improper. “You’re not a bad dancer, and the slow songs are fun too, in a different way. You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”</p><p>Roger finally met her eyes, but Frida had not expected to find that his eyes were strangely pained, his brow furrowed slightly.</p><p>“I am, actually,” said Roger in a low voice. He didn’t look away this time, but continued to gaze down at Frida with an unfathomable expression. Anything that Frida might have said stuck in her throat, and she could feel her heart tapping a little harder under her breast.</p><p>“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help to you this afternoon,” said Roger softly, his breath whisp across Frida’s dewy face. “You could have died. I was scared for you.”</p><p>“You were of so much help, Roger,” said Frida earnestly, vaguely aware that they had stopped swaying on the spot to the music. “You helped me more than anyone else after it was over, I couldn’t have asked for any better.”</p><p>“I – Frida, I can’t handle this…” said Roger, clenching his eyes shut and standing very still.</p><p>“What? What’s wrong? I don’t understand what you mean,” said Frida looking up into his pained face.</p><p>After a moment, Roger slowly opened his eyes and met Frida’s. For a moment, Frida wondered if Roger was going to say something, but he didn’t. Moments passed, but their gaze remained locked. Part of Frida really wanted to look away, but she couldn’t bring herself to even though the music had stopped and the silence was almost deafening. Her heart was racing. She could bare it no longer.</p><p>Frida let her arms drop from Roger’s neck, but in that same moment, one of Roger’s hands suddenly shot up from her waist to cup her jaw, and with a sharp intake of breath from Frida, his lips were pressed against Frida’s. She stiffened in surprise, and felt a heat building in the pit of her abdomen as she tasted his slow, gentle kiss. His breath was sweet and his hand pressed her waist tightly to his strong body. The kiss had only lasted for a brief moment, and just as Frida thought that she might moan with longing, Roger pulled abruptly away.</p><p>He didn’t look at her, he just glanced from side to side, walking backwards towards the door, mumbling, “I, er… I’m sorry.”</p><p>With a short glance in her general direction, Roger fled the room, leaving Frida feeling highly shaken and confused.</p><p> </p><p>~    ~    ~</p><p> </p><p>What in Merlin’s name had he <em>done</em>? He had promised himself over and over that he wouldn’t try anything with Frida, yet when she needed a friend the most, he had lost control. Worse yet, he had run from the scene like the coward that he was. Would she be able to find her way back to her room from there? He couldn’t bring himself to go back now. She hadn’t really kissed him back, not that he had any right to steal a kiss from her in the first place.</p><p>Who was to say that she wanted him to? Roger paced around his room, kicking his bedpost in frustration as he walked by. Their encounters would undoubtedly be unbearably awkward from now on. Unbearable in general. He had never had this strong of a reaction to a woman before. Why? Why did he have do feel this way about <em>her</em>? She was Andrea’s best friend, she lived in his house, <em>and </em>her room was right next to his.</p><p>After all, she had said when they first met that he was a womanizer, and would inevitably take advantage of any female friends that he possessed. How could he ever make her see that that was not how it was with her? Nearly losing her had brought to light how much she really meant to him. In spite of all of his efforts to resist, his heart ached at the mere thought of her. He wanted to cry. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.</p><p>He didn’t think he could face her. He could man up and apologize to her, but the truth was that he couldn’t bear it if she rejected him. He wanted her with every piece of himself, but he had no right to. He had no right to expect anything from her. She had been nothing but kind and understanding to him over the past months. She had made it clear what she thought of him that day that they had fought. She had said that she hadn’t meant it, but it was hard to believe as he had heard it all before from his father.</p><p>As much as he would like to talk about what had happened with Frida, he doubted that he ever could. He would end up doing the only thing he knew how in times of crisis. He would pretend that nothing had happened, and spend as little time around her as possible. Once his head was more level, he could decide what to do from there.</p><p>He walked passed the bowl of stew that waited for him in front of the fire and threw himself into bed. He closed his eyes, and from somewhere far away, he could hear his father’s voice saying, “Now do you see? You <em>aren’t</em> a true man after all. You are <em>weak.</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Scattered Parchment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took Frida a decent while to find her way back to her room. After Roger had kissed her and run for his life, Frida took a seat in the music room to finish her whisky and see if he came back. He never did. She spent the next half an hour numbly winding through corridors until she finally found the staircase that would lead up to her room. She stood for a moment in front of her door, staring at the door beside it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why had Roger done that? Why had he run afterwards? There was only one way to find out. Frida marched over to Roger’s door and knocked. Nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger?” called Frida. The door remained firmly shut in front of her. She knocked again, but this time louder. Still nothing. “Roger? Can we talk?” Frida was just wondering if Roger was on the balcony outside when the light that peeped out from the crack under the door went out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he was ignoring her. Frida shivered, inexplicably feeling cold and clammy. Frida finally went back to her room to pick at the stew that Wimbly had left for her. The cocktail of feelings that swirled around her stomach like the churning of an overloaded washing machine made her dinner less than appealing in spite of Wimbly’s talent in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite nearly being killed by a wizard and, perhaps, killing one herself in self-defense, Frida felt surprisingly unaffected by what had happened. Whether it was the medicine that she had been given, her oxygen-deprived brain when she was being strangled, or natural dissociation, Frida could barely remember the events of the day. The residual anxiety and distress had been remedied by the whisky and her dancing with Roger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her attraction to Roger was definitely often at the forefront of her mind, but he was familiar enough now that he felt safe to flirt with little consequences. Frida had enjoyed forcing him to let loose with her immensely, especially because it seemed to make him mildly uncomfortable. What she had not expected him to do was kiss her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The short, tender kiss had lifted her spirit so high that Frida thought her feet might not even be touching the floor if she looked down. She had not been prepared in the slightest for how much she would enjoy it nor the way it had made her heart flutter. It surprised her even more when Roger had stopped kissing her, and how he had acted like he had instantly regretted the kiss. Now he was ignoring her? It was as if he thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> had done something wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he was ashamed. He had apologized after all. But where was the shame in a kiss? Unless… Unless it was because she was a muggle. Frida suddenly felt rather cold. She sank from her chair and scooted towards the fire to warm her clammy hands and feet to find that her hands trembled slightly as she held them out before her. Her stomached churned uncomfortably, threatening to purge itself of the little stew that she had managed to get down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was happening to her? Her eyes burned uncomfortably, and Frida angrily wiped away the silent tears that streaked her face. With a shuddering breath, Frida took a deep gulp of water from her glass. It went down with a painful lump. She had apparently underestimated her attachment to Roger, and overestimated his capacity to have feelings for a muggle – and a not particularly wealthy one at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like the signs weren’t there the whole time. He had pointed out her lack of magical abilities more frequently than she was used to with Andrea’s family. Then there was the matter that his father was an actual Lord. While it was true that she had given very little thought the possibility of a romantic relationship with Roger, now that he had basically rejected her, she couldn’t help but imagine how things might have turned out differently if he had just kept on kissing her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida glared into the fire before her. She very much wanted to be angry at him. It would be easier that way, but all she could muster was an overwhelming feeling of shame and despair when she imagined his thoughtful blue eyes, staring pensively into the fire as he had considered Frida’s perspective earlier that evening. Frida stood up, hoping to relieve herself from the discomfort she was feeling with a change of scenery, but her head remained aching and her breathing was as labored as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without bothering to blow out the candles, Frida curled under her blankets and pulled the covers over her head. This is why she hadn’t been eager to develop any real feelings for anyone. It was too painful. She tried not to be angry at herself for crying as hard as she did for as long as she did, but it seemed so trivial to cry over a man when she had battled for her life that very same day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Frida spent far too much time brooding about what her next interaction with Roger would be like and how she should behave, but she needn’t have bothered. She didn’t see him all day, nor the next, and to make matters more intolerable, neither Tanya nor Bert would acknowledge Roger’s absence at mealtimes. This was particularly odd, as Bert tended to be cranky when Roger was late for dinner and would glare periodically at Roger’s empty seat until it was filled, but he appeared completely unaffected by its vacancy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the third night that Roger didn’t come for dinner, part of Frida wanted to ask Tanya if she had seen him lately, but whenever she tried, her throat would dry up and her voice would somehow shrink out of her reach. Frida wondered what he had told them that had made his parents both pretend that nothing was amiss during his absence. They clearly understood why he would want to avoid Frida if they agreed not to complain or discuss his choices as they usually did without hesitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida got a glimpse of Roger for the first time, four days after the kiss, where she was in the greenhouse working with bubotubers for the first time as the pimply bumps on their slug-like forms were ready for popping. She hurried out front to wash some pus, that had exploded from a particularly full lump, from her cheek. She had just finished dunking her head in the water barrel to rid herself of the stinking, burning slime when she saw Roger far off, trudging up the hill from the boathouse towards the manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t look her way, but she had a strong suspicion that he knew that she was there, as his head was angled unnaturally in the opposite direction. She had half a mind to chase after him and ask him what his </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, but instead she just sighed heavily and returned to her slow work at filling bottles with bubotuber puss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around mid-day the next day, Frida decided that she was having a shit week. She tripped over a bundle of hay as she was carrying feed for the horses through the stables, and landed chest-first in a large, hot pile of horse manure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful now,” said Mark, with a gravelly chuckle, as Frida cursed loudly and extracted herself from the dung. “You know, it wouldn’t be too much trouble if you figured that you needed someone to talk to after what happened to ye. Your mind’s not been in the work lately. It’s only natural to feel a bit anxious after somethin’ like that” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Frida grumbled. He was right of course, but Frida didn’t much like the idea of explaining the real reason that she hadn’t been herself lately to Mark. “I barely remember that day, anyhow. I guess I’m lucky. It’s nothing – I’m just clumsier than usual. I blame it on the weather.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suit yourself,” said Mark, shrugging and glancing up at the overcast sky out a window before moving on to the stables exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the days grew progressively shorter, Frida was forced to move indoors earlier and earlier. She might have enjoyed relaxing in the evenings after working so hard during the day, but instead, Frida found it incredibly difficult to relax now. Up until recently she hadn’t realized just how much time she had been spending with Roger in the evenings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt his absence when she went to read and drink wine or tea (lately more of the latter) in the conservatory. She missed him appearing, as if out of nowhere, by her side in the art gallery to retell her about the history of each portrait for the hundredth time. She no longer walked with him up to their corridor after playing exploding snap cards with him until very late, nor did she awkwardly bump into him when they both were trying to sneak out for a midnight snack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The manor felt so much bigger now. It felt almost as if she lived there all by herself, as she hardly saw anyone in the later hours – Tanya and Bert liked to keep to themselves after dinner was over. Frida also became increasingly aware of the various creaking’s and moaning’s of the house that seemed much louder now that she spent most of the nights in complete silence. She even thought she heard Mr. Foley’s howling as she went up to bed one evening, a sound that she had avoided so well that she had almost forgotten entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida returned to her room from the library one night, after she had given up her attempts at reading about shapeshifting toadstools, to an unexpected visitor. Frida had just shut the door behind her when she heard a soft hooting behind her that made her jump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, black owl sat on the back of one of the armchairs with a small letter tied around its ankle. It must have slipped in through the space in door that Frida always left ajar for fresh air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey cutie,” said Frida softly, untying the cord from his ankle and giving the owl a scratch on its little head. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been some time since she had gotten any mail, as her family was practicing minimal contact to protect all of their whereabouts. She scrambled to open the wax seal, and opened the letter to find a thin, looping script that Frida was quite familiar with. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey F,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m safe. I’m glad you are too. I wish I could say more. Maybe we can see each other before too long. Love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-A.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was from Andrea. Frida sighed with relief. At least one thing was going right this week. Andrea was most likely back in the country, which meant she would probably head home before long. She must have spoken to their family, otherwise she wouldn’t have known that Frida was there. Frida was just wondering if Roger knew about Andrea, when she heard indistinct sounds drifting in from the gap in the balcony doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida stood up quickly to investigate, and the little owl zipped out the gap before her. Frida poked her head out into the brisk night. The sound of a viola met her ears in the darkness. She strained her eyes in the darkness, but she couldn’t see a thing so she slipped out into the chilly night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound was coming from Roger’s balcony. Sure enough, a shadowy figure stood silhouetted by the soft glow of candlelight pouring out from the glass doors to Roger’s room, its arm moving jaggedly as it created the most melancholy melody that Frida had heard in a long time.  As suddenly as it had started, the music stopped, and the tall figure held completely still for a moment before silently moving back into Roger’s room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he opened the door, Frida got the quickest glance at Roger’s solemn profile before he was gone again. That night, Frida dreamed of Roger. He was dressed in Mr. Foley’s seventeenth-century clothing, minus the wig, and he floated resolutely above Frida in the entrance hall. He was a ghost; nothing but a silvery, transparent figure apart from his deep-blue eyes. He drifted slowly down so that he could stare sadly down at Frida, his coat fluttering in the non-existent wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t belong here,” he said sadly in an otherworldly voice. “Go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I can’t,” Frida said, weeping uncontrollably. “I can’t go home. Why are you being this way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of responding, ghost Roger floated back towards the ceiling, rotating slowly midair, almost as if he was hanging from a noose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was still lost in thought about the dream the next day when Mark cleared his throat loudly, making Frida leap into the air as she poured a pale of water into Daisy’s trough, nearly spilling it all over herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time for some lunch,” groused Mark, tossing a towel for Frida to catch. “Get cleaned up and come eat. You can’t work on an empty stomach.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida wiped off her sweaty face, followed Mark to the hippogriff paddock, and climbed up onto the wooden fence next to him. He handed her a sandwich from a paper bag. They ate in silence for a while, before Frida decided to risk asking Mark something that she had been brooding on for the last few days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Mark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hrrm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does Tanya come from money?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrrm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When Bert married Tanya, did she come from a wealthy family?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Mark shortly, without elaborating further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought that wealthy families had to marry within their social class,” said Frida, despite Mark’s apparent hesitation. “I don’t care or anything, I was only asking because she seems a little more relaxed in her manners than one might expect. It’s refreshing actually. I was just wondering how that works exactly. Don’t they have to keep up with certain standards?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert Davies sure stepped out of bounds, by </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> father’s standards anyhow, by marrying her,” said Mark, his eyes gleaming a little with what seemed like pleasure at retelling a favorite piece of gossip to one of the few that didn’t yet know it. “They do things a bit different here than some of the other lordly estates. But Bert keeps his investments strong, and his wife is popular with the other rich-folk because of her friendly manners. He doesn’t need extra money or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So would it be fair to assume that his son can also pick whoever he wants?” asked Frida quickly, blushing a bit and looking anywhere but Mark for fear that he would understand her reasons for her questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expect so,” said Mark, with a dip in  his tone that made Frida worry that he suspected something, but he said no more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her thumb as she watched the pair of coal-black hippogriffs running about and nipping at each other’s flanks with shiny beaks. She had one last burning question for mark, but it seemed like a dead giveaway of her thoughts. She sucked her tongue, and decided to just spit it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it wouldn’t be shameful for someone of the Davies’ status to be with, say… a muggle or a squib?” asked Frida, eyes fixed on the frolicking beasts. “To me it seems like it would be worse, somehow, than being with someone outside their social class. There must be some limits that can’t be crossed – even by them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida had hoped that her question had sounded innocent enough with all of her additional explanation, but Mark was quiet for a while. Far too long for Frida’s liking. She finally looked at Mark, who was surveying her with his dark, beady eye and puffing on his pipe. He continued to stare at her suspiciously for a few more long moments before pointedly relighting his pipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shameful?” mumbled Mark with his pipe held tightly between his teeth. “Maybe to some, yes. It certainly would make some folk raise eyebrows. There’s a war going on as we speak concerning similar things, as you well know. It’s controversial for sure. This family falls on the more liberal side of things in general. Like I said, the Davies’ generally can do what they want as long as they play nice with the other rich-folk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frida!” called a voice from behind them. Frida turned around on the fence to find Tanya striding across the grass in long shimmering  sliver robes towards them. “Frida dear, I have some excellent news! Hello Mark,” said Tanya, nodding to Mark as she stood before them. “Your godmother, Radhika is coming to visit this evening! I just received her owl! She decided to risk a trip to see you after the unfortunate circumstances with the snatchers last week. She’s gone to considerable effort to make sure she wasn’t followed. Bert is going to fetch her himself in the muggle village a couple miles from here.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, that’s nice of her,” said Frida, feeling somewhat guilty that Radhika was going out of her way and her safety to check up on her. “Will she be staying long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She didn’t say, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> hoping that she will,” said Tanya, practically trembling with excitement. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten any social calls! I’m going to have something extra special prepared for her tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida watched as Tanya bustled back towards the manor, clutching Radhika’s letter tightly in her hand as if the letter was a ticket to her favorite playhouse. After a few more hours working with Mark, Frida followed suit and headed back to Witley to get dressed for dinner. By the time Frida was washed, dressed, and heading down the stairs to the entrance hall, she could hear Radhika’s rich, loud voice echoing from the dining room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe that Frida got out of that mess without so much as a scratch!” said Radhika, her voice growing progressively louder as Frida approached the door. “And you say that Roger helped her recover? How sweet he is. Oh, I can’t wait to see them both. I – Frida, my love!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Radhika, a lovely woman with long, curly black hair and eyes as dark as onyx, leapt from her chair and rushed over to Frida with her long, flowing burgundy robes flowing behind her. She pulled Frida into a strong but soft and motherly embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh how we’ve missed you! Your mother has been so worried, but after the news about the snatchers, I had to come!” Radhika, pulled back and held Frida at arm’s length to get a better look at her. “You look very well. How are you feeling? How have you been? Did you get your note from Andrea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida squeezed Radhika’s hand and smiled at her before glancing to where Bert and Tanya waited in their seats for them to sit down for dinner. Bert did not like to wait until after six for his meals, and they only had a minute or two left before his mood would sour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s sit down? Thank you so much for coming,” said Frida, taking a seat opposite Radhika at the table. “I’m so happy that you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are we!” said Tanya, beaming at Radhika. “I’ve asked for the kitchen to prepare curry for you tonight! I went down to check on it and it smells simply delectable. Isn’t that wonderful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” said Bert, with a smile that Frida knew by now meant that he really meant the opposite, but she doubted Radhika would notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you! How thoughtful!” said Radhika before turning her attention back to Frida. “Now sweety, tell me, how you have been? What have you been up to? Are you alright after those terrible wizards attacked you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida told Radhika all about her work with Mark and her herbology studies in the greenhouse as a platter of naan bread appeared in front of them, apparently as an appetizer. Radhika glanced around for the rest of the food before turning her attention back to Frida. Frida made sure to vocalize how grateful she was for the Davies’ hospitality, as she rarely did though she was, in fact, very appreciative of all they had done for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone has been so understanding,” finished Frida, giving Tanya a meaningful smile. “They make me feel so welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, their curries appeared in front of them, and Radhika glanced around the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s my Roger? Isn’t he coming down for dinner?” said Radhika, looking thoroughly concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has matters to attend to this evening,” said Bert resolutely, though Frida noticed some hesitation in Tanya across the table. “He sends his regrets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh how disappointing,” said Radhika, taking a bite of her curry. “I miss him. It’s been too long. Tanya, this Panang curry is very good, it’s been a while since I’ve had Thai food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thai</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I told them to make curry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize… Well, I should have specified,” said Tanya, looking rather embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s great,” said Frida, “Don’t worry about it. Radhika isn’t picky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, and the rice is lovely, Tanya,” said Radhika reassuringly. “Let me tell you what my husband did the other day, you won’t believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tanya and Radhika chatted without care for a long while before Bert finally excused himself, looking rather put out by the two women’s unending stream of conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” said Radhika in a dark undertone when Bert finally left, glancing between Frida and Tanya. “What is going on with Roger, really? It’s not like him not to come and see me. Is he alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not been himself lately,” said Tanya quietly, glancing hesitantly at Frida. “To tell you the truth, I’ve hardly seen him since Frida was attacked. I’m getting worried about him. I wonder if he maybe is having anxiety about what happened and what he saw… Has he said anything about it to you, Frida?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No… He hasn’t,” said Frida, glancing away nervously. Did she really not know anything about what happened between them that night? She surely must realize that this was all about Roger avoiding her. “I haven’t seen him at all, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How bizarre!” said Radhika, “How has he not been himself, Tanya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” said Tanya hesitantly, looking over her shoulder as if someone might be standing in the doorway. “He hasn’t been eating properly… I think he’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>drinking, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell you the truth. He’s been sullen and distant in any of the times I’ve gone to check on him, and he won’t let me into his room. He’s a sensitive young man… He can occasionally get this way, but I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tanya sniffled sharply and brushed away a single tear from the corner of her eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh darling,” said Radhika, placing a hand on Tanya’s arm. “This time has been tough on all of us. I’m sure he just is working through some difficult feelings right now. He’ll come out of it soon, you’ll see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Radhika had a real talent for soothing when she wanted to, and she certainly knew how to distract Tanya from her worries; they were soon chatting happily away about future plans for a women’s gathering at Radhika’s tea shop once the war ended… If it ever did. Frida’s mind, however, was elsewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed as though Roger really was going through something. Whether it was linked with Frida, she could not be sure, but the timing of their kiss and his behavior left Frida feeling rather suspicious. A strange feeling was creeping up on Frida as she absorbed this new information – a building curiosity and a renewed drive for some kind of resolution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mark had said that there would be little issue with Roger involving himself in whoever that he wanted, so unless Roger was particularly prejudiced himself, her rejection might have been about something else. Maybe something more personal? If that were the case, well, then she could at least let herself get angry about that if she thought about it hard enough. Sadly, none of this made her feel much better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After desert and some drinks, Radhika finally decided it was time to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t you at least stay for one night? We’ve got more than enough space, and I’m sure Frida would love to have your company for a little longer,” said Tanya imploringly as Radhika stood in Witley’s threshold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, dearie,” said Radhika, shaking her head with a twinkle in her eye. “I would prefer to sleep in my own bed. I’m sure you know how that is. My husband and parents are waiting for me, and I have to apparate six different places along the way just to be safe. Thank you so much for the meal and the company, and Frida, we miss you so much. I’ll come back and see you soon. Hopefully this won’t have to be the way it is much longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida gave her a tight squeeze and watched Radhika disappear down the long trail leading to the gate. It had been good to have a familiar face around, but more than anything, it had just made Frida more acutely homesick than ever. Frida knew, though, that when she started to think like this, it was time for her to go to bed, so she too said goodnight to Tanya and made her way back to her room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida had just changed into some comfortable robes and decided for a bath with a book before going to bed, when she heard Roger’s door open with a creak, then the sound of his footsteps headed down the corridor. She hadn’t heard his door shut. Frida tossed her book on her bed and poked her head out into the corridor. Roger was nowhere to be seen, but light spilled out onto the glistening wood floor outside his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her curiosity getting the better of her, Frida tiptoed down the corridor to peek into Roger’s room, but not much was visible from the doorway. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure the sound would make Roger come back to investigate, but with a final glance behind her Frida slipped into his bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mess – empty wineglasses littered here and there, empty plates stacked on the table before the fire, and parchment scattered on his unmade bed, his chairs, and his desk. Suddenly remembering the lettering that looked much like her own which had been on his desk days ago, Frida crept over to investigate. She would have to be quick, or else Roger might come back before she would make a clear getaway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, one of the many letters that Frida had written to Roger was siting in the middle of his desk. Frida gaped at it. It was very wrinkled, as if it had been handled hundreds of times. It had several purple rings and droplet stains from a wine glass, and certain words had been circled and underlined. Words like “pathetic” and “ignorant.” Frida gulped hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a glance behind her, Frida realized to her horror that most of the pieces of parchment scattered around his room also bore her handwriting. Frida wanted to read more, having forgotten most of what she had said to him those years ago, but she was running out of time. She reached for one of the letters on his bed, but she froze. Footsteps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida scrambled for the door. He would definitely see her in the corridor, but hopefully she could edge along the dark wall and if he was far enough and drunk enough he might not notice her. Just as Frida made to dash out the doorway, the space was suddenly occupied by Roger, who looked equally horrified and intrigued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, what are you – ” started Roger, but Frida pushed by him and stalked straight back down the corridor to her room and called “Sorry – wrong room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once back in her room, Frida was far too aghast at what she had seen to be properly mortified about getting caught snooping. It appeared as though he had been reading and rereading their old letters, focusing on the harshest bits. But why? Why would he want to do that? What did it all mean?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Frida thought about it for the next several hours as she tried to slip into sleep, she came no closer to any answers that made sense. One thing, however, did stick out in her mind. If he was taking the time to brood over her letters and go as far as to take them personally, it could only mean one thing. He cared about what she thought of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She checked the time. She had been trying to catch some sleep for three and a half hours now, and it seemed that the longer that she brooded about Roger’s behavior over the past week and her new discovery from that evening, the more frustrated with him that she became. He was being a dolts. If he had a problem with her, he ought to say so to her face instead of making himself miserable by reading their old fights and drinking himself into an early grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clearly had his own issues that he needed to work out, but Frida did not enjoy being put out as a part of that process – whatever his reasons were. Suddenly, Frida heard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>clash</span>
  </em>
  <span> of breaking glass coming from Roger’s room. That was it. She had had enough. She had to talk to him. Now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida flung off her covers and marched into the corridor, which was quite drafty in her nightgown, and paused for a short moment at Roger’s door.  She </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>knock, but that hadn’t gotten her very far in the past. Instead, she grabbed the doorknob and thew the door open with a bang against the wall with all of her might.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>said Roger, who was bent down vanishing a shattered wine glass with his wand and had knocked his head on the coffee table in fright as Frida came crashing in. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Frida</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” he said straightening up and rubbing his head. “What the hell are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> the same thing!” snapped Frida, marching up to him and inspecting him. “Are you drunk? Or do you have a better explanation for why you’ve been breaking glasses in the middle of the damn night?! Don’t you know that some of us are trying to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of drown out our problems with liquor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger’s blue eyes were like galleons and his mouth agape. His dark hair was tousled and standing on end in some places. He looked as though he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar in the dead of night, as his mouth opened and closed several times, desperately searching for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You came </span>
  <em>
    <span>storming</span>
  </em>
  <span> into my bedroom in the middle of the night to tell me off for </span>
  <em>
    <span>drinking</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” Roger finally exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in wild exasperation. “You didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>knock</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Don’t you know that you should never – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the point of knocking if you never answer anyway?” barked Frida, a droplet of spit nearly hitting Roger in the eye at the word “point” as she glared furiously up at him. “No, you’d rather pretend that I don’t exist and even stop showing up for family dinners in order to avoid me. Then I find out that you’ve been in here for days brooding over some silly things that I wrote when we were – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What gives </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> the right to go poking around my things?!” Roger growled, his level of fury slowly rising to Frida’s. “And for the record I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>drunk at the moment! After </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the hospitality that I have afforded to you, this is how you thank me? Snooping about my bedroom when I’m away? Casting judgment – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hospitality</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” said Frida, her voice wavering dangerously. “So </span>
  <em>
    <span>hospitality</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what made you kiss me, then, is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger’s face quickly transformed from fury to something else; his brow furrowed and he cast his eyes down and away from her. Frida waited, panting heavily and glowering intently at him. She wouldn’t let him get out of talking about it this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” said Frida when she had finally given up on Roger saying anything. “Are you too ashamed that you kissed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>muggle</span>
  </em>
  <span> to face me? Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> it? Am I so beneath you that you feel disgusted at yourself, and are using all of my letters to remind yourself of all of the reasons not to like me? Is that it?! Is it?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Roger at once, his eyes flicking to Frida’s for a moment. “You’re reading too much into it. I was supposed to be your friend that night – when you needed it most. I don’t know why I did what I did. It was a mistake to take advantage of the situation like that. I know that in the past you have thought me incapable of friendship with a woman without ulterior motives. I didn’t have one, but I guess… I suppose I was weak. It’s not like that… I just needed you to see… well… It hasn’t been easy for me, but you don’t have to drag me across the coals just because I needed time to myself. I already know what you must think of me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Argh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” snarled Frida, shoving Roger in the chest with both hands with each proceeding statement. It wasn’t very effective given that he was considerably larger than her, but he looked as affronted as she had hoped that he would be. “Why are you so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>!? Do you know what you put me through this week?! Do you only ever think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Roger shouted, seizing Frida by both wrists. “Stop attacking me, won’t you? Merlin’s beard, no need for such – </span>
  <em>
    <span>agh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida yanked her wrists out of his sizable hands and shoved both of his shoulders hard – so hard, in fact, that Roger went stumbling backwards into one of his armchairs. He stared at Frida, eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. Frida took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her ears, and strode over to where he sat all sprawled out in his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> with these games, Roger Davies,” panted Frida, pointing a trembling finger in his face. “Done. Do you hear me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They glared at each other for a moment, eyes blazing with discord. Roger slowly opened his mouth to speak, but Frida couldn’t let him ruin things any more than he already had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shush</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” hissed Frida, moving her finger from his face to his lips. “Now, you’re going to hear my side…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t really thought out what she would say to him. In fact, words fell woefully short of all that she was feeling. He stared defiantly up at her, waiting for Frida to continue, but any words that she might have said were replaced by a burning sensation in her cheeks and the pit of her stomach. It felt like gravity was pulling her forwards with all of its force, so she resolved to simply give into it as she couldn’t think of anything better to do and her anger clouded her thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she knew what was happening, Frida leapt onto Roger, straddled his lap, grabbed ahold of his wide, prickly jaw, and slipped her tongue into his hot open mouth. His response was instantaneous; his strong hands gripped her waist over her semi-sheer nightgown and he returned her kiss with a voracious ferocity beyond anything that Frida could have imagined.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dug her fingers into his smooth, dark hair as she pulled his head back slightly to gain control of the kiss. At this, Roger released something of a rumbling growl deep in his chest and bit Frida’s lip firmly but not painfully. Frida let out a sharp gasp, and deepened their kiss once more. Tasting him was as maddening as it was divine, his hands running up and down her waist, but not far enough down for Frida’s liking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed one of his arms and slipped his hand down onto her backside. He squeezed appreciatively and wrapped the whole of his free arm around her waist as she tangled her fingers in his hair once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Roger,” Frida gasped in between rugged kisses. “Come. Come here,” said Frida, extracting herself from his grasp and dragging him by the collar of his robes. He followed her, lips swollen and flushed, as she pulled him with her onto his bed. Once he was kneeling beside her on the wide expanse of his bedspread, Frida pushed breathless Roger back against his pillows and wasted no time relieving him of his robes to expose the shapely form that she already knew lay beneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slid her hands up his chiseled abdomen, raking her nails across his chest, her blood boiling. Frida slipped her nightgown from her head and tossed it behind her. She looked down at Roger whose eyes were alit as they moved from bottom to top. He reached out for her and pulled her into a rough kiss, as her hand slipped down to his underwear, pulled him out, and sank herself over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger let out a rugged gasp, as Frida slid as far down as she could. Frida kissed him hard, rocking back and forth, driving herself closer and closer to the edge. She pulled back from her kiss and locked her eyes to his blue, hazy gaze. Her heart fluttered. She was quite suddenly overcome by something unfamiliar – something new, something exhilarating. All she knew was that she wanted him, all of him, all around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a final cry, Frida swooned forward and collapsed onto Roger’s heaving chest. After a few moments, Roger lazily wrapped his arms around Frida with a groan, pulling her down onto the bed beside him. After a few long minutes of silent bliss, Frida’s first conscious thought was that while she wasn’t sure what she had just gotten herself into nor how they had gotten here, she refused to overthink it as she nuzzled sleepily into his shoulder. Not at least for today.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Holly and Hellebore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Roger woke with a start, suddenly aware of how cold he was. It was no wonder, his bare leg had somehow found itself out from under the warmth of his thick winter blankets. He yanked his leg back under and curled up with his back to the light that streamed into his bedroom in hopes of a little more rest, but something tugged at the edges of his half-conscious mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a minute or two, Roger slowly let his eyelids flutter open. The pillow next to the one he was using was strangely dented. He ran a sleepy hand across it, and caught something between his fingers. A long, golden hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger shot up and looked wildly about his room, his memory quickly rushing back to him; Frida had been there, and they had… He spotted his robes thrown carelessly at the foot of his bed. Roger rubbed the sand from his eyes and shook his head. If he had not found her hair on his pillow, he would have thought it all a particularly vivid dream – especially as the content was quite on par with the kinds of dreams he had been having of late in any case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had all happened so quickly. She had stormed in, then they had fought, then he apologized to her, then she attacked him, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had jumped on him. The memory made Roger’s insides feel rather hot. He had never expected Frida to have done that. He really should not have ruled out her attraction to him so soon – he had just been so caught up in the particulars of what he felt was expected of him that he had avoided finding out the reality of Frida’s reaction to his kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger had had many girlfriends in the past and he had made love to quite a fair few of them, but he had never had an experience quite like the previous night. Roger tugged absentmindedly on Frida’s silky strand of hair and wondered where she was. It was a shame that he had not woken up to find her beside him. He would have liked to talk about the night before with her, and perhaps have a second round if the mood was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger spent quite a few minutes replaying their encounter in his mind before finally dragging himself out of bed and getting dressed. His room was an absolute mess – he would have to finally give Wimbly permission to start cleaning it again now that he no longer planned on staying cooped up in his room for any length of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped over a pile of dirty robes and went out into the corridor, taking a deep breath. Wimbly and his elves had already decorated the corridor for Christmas with evergreen garlands and holly, as was his custom on the first of December, so the air smelled distinctly of fir and spruce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resisting the urge to knock on Frida’s door, Roger strode down the corridor to have some breakfast, feeling more buoyant than he had in a rather long time. He was in such a good mood, in fact, that he even greeted his father with unprecedented enthusiasm when he entered the dining room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Dad,” said Roger taking a seat next to where his father sat alone in the dining room, pouring over some of his ever-growing organizational charts. “It’s looking a lot like Christmas around here, I dare say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I presume that your abrupt appearance indicates that you have resolved your dispute with our houseguest,” said Bert, closing his books. “I will not ask for details, but I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you had reasonable justification for being so reclusive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” said Roger shortly, his mood sinking slightly, and buttered his toast liberally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, considering the ample time you have had for self-reflection, I think you ought to have come to a decision about the matters I asked you to consider back in August,” said Bert, staring at him expectantly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not ready to give up on my Quidditch career so soon,” said Roger resolutely, though Bert furrowed his brow and might have objected if Roger had not talked over him. “I have trained far too long and too hard. I continue to train and strategize so that when Quidditch recommences, I will be in top form. It is my ambition to become team captain in the next few years. In the meantime, the plants in our greenhouse are being diligently tended to, and I think it would be a waste not to start making ingredient donations to St. Mungo’s Hospital. We have many rare and productive species which we hardly take advantage of. I feel good about these plans, so if my ideas are still not satisfactory to you, then I don’t know what to tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bert frowned thoughtfully at Roger in silence for a short while, rubbing his thumbs together slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do appreciate your efforts,” said Bert, after a moment. “Becoming Quidditch captain would indeed expand your political reach in the long term. You could build connections with some powerful wizard patrons. I approve of your charity proposal as well, as it would likewise help you build valuable connections.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger smiled and nodded at his father, rather surprised that he had actually somewhat complemented him for once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like to add a word of caution,” said Bert sternly. “I am quite aware of the circumstances in which you might find yourself as a member of a prestigious sports team. Remember what I have I said to you: the time for philandering is over. The time has come for you to gain introductions to suitable young women to court. Do this remembering all the while that which woman you will one day marry will be the Lady of Witley Court. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may take your time, but be prudent. If you find yourself in a poor match while courting, do your best to avoid burning bridges with important contacts,” said Bert before taking a long draft of his morning tea. “You may not see the benefit of becoming serious with a woman now, but I assure you, having a well-selected wife will bring you balance – make you a man. Your mother, for example – she organizes all of Witley’s charities and socials and does so much for this family. She challenges me as her husband yet knows how to behave properly in polite society.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you want me to find a woman like Mum?” sneered Roger over his coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You intentionally miss my point,” said Bert shortly. “No more fooling around. Find yourself a suitable partner. I would appreciate it if you would give me your word on this matter, and I will give you mine so that we won’t have to discuss this again for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. Up until the last several months, he might have refused such a promise to his father on principle, yet now, for the first time in his life, Roger could in fact think of someone that he would very much like to see living with him at Witley for a considerable amount to time. After all, Frida was hardworking, adaptable, amiable, and practical. Not to mention that she had a particularly unique talent for turning his insides into mush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” said Roger, smiling to himself. “You have my word. I’ll stop sleeping – I mean taking short-term girlfriends and start dating seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” said Bert, looking highly satisfied with himself. “I’m glad you are finally up to the task.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger enjoyed the rest of his breakfast in pleasant silence as he vaguely daydreamed about the possibility of Frida coming back to live with him at Witley one day. She probably would still continue spending more time with Mark than she did with him, but that wouldn’t be so bad. She certainly would keep things exciting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, this all was a highly premature and grandiose fantasy, but in light of the previous nights’ activities, it almost seemed as if anything was possible. At any rate, he knew where he wanted to be, and that was talking with Frida to ensure that she continued to look upon him favorably. Roger left his father at the table and strode out onto the brisk grounds where large clumps of snow were just beginning to adorn the landscape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was nowhere in sight, but he knew where she would be, and he would waste no more time getting there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~      ~      ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was in one of the best moods that she could remember being in for a long time, as she braided holly berry bunches into the manes of all of the horses while Mark magicked thick wool blankets for all of the stable’s beasts through the air. She peered out of a window at Witley, which had been transformed overnight; candles in every garland-laden window, every bush was full of sparkling baubles, and the inside was equally as adorned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida’s favorite part of all was the enormous Christmas tree that filled up the entrance hall almost all the way up the chandelier. The drawing room had its own smaller Christmas trees, and the table in the dining room was lined with juniper wreathes and thick white candles. Mistletoe hung in various doorways and there wasn’t a room in the mansion that didn’t smell of evergreen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was sure that the elves were up to making Christmas cookies, notes of cinnamon and clove could be detected wafting from the corridor to the kitchens. She could have sworn that she even heard Christmas music coming from the kitchens, as Frida passed by early that morning. It was impossible to be in a bad mood, even for Mark, which was saying something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What really had Frida humming to herself that morning, however, was the sweet scent of sandalwood that lingered in her hair even after carefully prying herself out of Roger’s sleeping grasp and creeping back to her room in the early hours before dawn. She hardly knew what to make of the previous night’s events, though she had been with plenty of men in the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth was, as many men as Frida had entertained herself in the past, she hadn’t ever really had any real attachment for them. Roger was different – he could be a bit of an idiot, but he listened to her, and he was sweet and more caring than any other man that she had met. It didn’t help that he was incredibly nice to look at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in her memory, Frida felt giddy and maybe even a little nervous at the concept of speaking with Roger after last night. There was no real logical reason for it, but it sometimes seemed like nothing that went on between the pair of them was very reasonable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Less singing, more working!” barked Mark, with a rascally wink, as he passed by where Frida was tying a red velvet ribbon into Daisy’s mane and humming “Deck the Halls” to herself. “I’m glad to see you’re in better spirits today. Snow’s comin’ down pretty hard now. You might want to go back and get ye’ some gloves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright,” said Frida, standing up and closing Daisy’s stall door behind her. “For now anyway. I’m going to go start on the hippogriffs. You think they’ll let me put bows on their tails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not likely,” smirked Mark, chuckling to himself. “But you can try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With no intention of actually attempting this, Frida made towards the pony pens, when she slowed as she heard the creak of the stables’ doors open behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Mark,” Roger’s voice called, as Frida slowed her pace, her cheeks burning. Roger did not usually come down to the stables, and Frida hadn’t thought enough about what she would say to him to feel confident about talking to him off her guard. “Looks nice in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I don’t care much for all of this mess,” said Mark, presumably about the décor that Frida had hung around Mark’s office doorway. “Frida’s responsible for the changes, I’m afraid. As usual. Anyway, what do ye’ need today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, nothing, I was just coming down for a chat with my friend, Frida. Don’t trouble yourself, dear chap,” said Roger patting Mark on the shoulder before striding towards Frida, who still was pretending not to notice him as she set her basket of holly on the pony pen door. At her name, however, she had to look, so Frida glanced up at Roger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His navy-blue robes and black winter cloak billowed out behind him as he walked towards her, giving him a rather elegant and otherworldly look. He stopped a couple feet in front of her and smiled at her softly, but Frida could almost swear that his eyes were slightly hardened with restrained desire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” she said rather awkwardly, shuffling her holly about in her basket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Frida,” said Roger charmingly, before raising an eyebrow. “Did you sleep well last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, yeah,” said Frida, blushing furiously, feeling increasingly furious at herself for her lack of composure. “Nice day, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, very festive,” said Roger, smiling around at the Christmas décor and snow that was piled on the window sills. “I just wanted to come down and see how you are, since I didn’t get a chance to see you earlier this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good,” said Frida, her voice catching slightly as Roger took another step towards her and brushed a stray hair behind her ear. Frida heard Mark clear his throat significantly from down the corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent,” said Roger, his ocean-blue eyes flicking across her face. “I’m glad to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm, how are you?” asked Frida as casually as she could manage as she forced herself to stare back up into his clever face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? I am brilliant,” said Roger in a low voice, with the slightest mischievous curl at the corner of his mouth. Frida was sure Mark must suspect something, as Roger was standing only a foot or so from her, head slightly bowed so that he could better look at Frida at her level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger glanced at Frida’s basket and plucked a single bunch and twirled it between his fingers thoughtfully for a moment before sliding it gently into Frida’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty,” said Roger, smiling to himself. “Well, I’ll be going back up now. Mum wants me to discuss something with her to do with a new charity I’m trying to set up. Maybe I could ask you for your thoughts a little later as well if you like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, er, okay. Sure,” said Frida quickly, as Roger let his hand drop to briefly caress her wrist as he stepped back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” he smiled, “See you later, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida watched as he strode away and out into the snowy grounds. From his office doorway, Mark cleared his throat loudly, but Frida chose to ignore this and promptly resumed her work. Her interaction with Roger had not been what she had expected, or at least, it wasn’t at all what she was used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was used to either men being possessive or evasive of her after a first romantic encounter. Roger was neither, in fact, he was cooler and calmer than she had been. There was a new intimacy and familiarity in the way that he looked at her that she had not experienced before. Frida found it rather hard to concentrate on her decorating after that for the rest of the morning, and she kept tripping over her own feet, much to Mark’s amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s got you all a-tither?” chuckled Mark as Frida detangled herself from a string of clove oranges and popcorn balls that she was attempting to hang around the fir trees which stood outside the barn doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God-damn string has a mind of its own,” grunted Frida, wrestling with the trees springy branches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh just stand back will you, girl,” said Mark, whipping out his wand. “You’re making this far too hard on yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I’ve almost got it!” said Frida through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough already!” Mark groused, “It’s almost noon and I don’t want to wait around for you to finish turning this place into a fairyland to have my lunch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” said Frida, jumping with the strand held high </span>
</p><p>
  <span>above her head in hopes of catching it on the higher branches. “No one’s stopping you, are they?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I reckon young master Davies will be disappointed if you don’t come in for lunch,” said Mark with a raspy chuckle before turning to head back into the barn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but – ” started Frida, but when she turned to glare at Mark, he had already walked back into the stables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She supposed that should have guessed that he would tease her about her interaction with Roger that morning. It didn’t help that she had asked him particularly suspicious questions about Roger’s potential dating pool only yesterday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After finally hanging the string of clove oranges and popcorn balls, Frida headed back up to the manor after shouting goodbye to Mark through a crack in the doors. The snow had fallen in thick sheets and was still coming down steadily, so it took Frida a little longer than usual to trudge her way back up the hill from the stables to the entrance of Witley manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook herself off outside before stepping into the warm entrance hall, to come face to face with an unexpected sight. Wimbly stood at the foot of the massive Christmas tree, his bony hands on his hips, dressed in a bright red tea towel and was wearing a false beard like a scraggly little Father Christmas. He was directing four other elves, dressed in bright green tea towels, in levitating enchanted, porcelain doves into the tree’s boughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Madam,” rasped Wimbly, turning to face Frida as if there was nothing unusual about his appearance. “Wimbly hopes the Madam is well, and he apologies for disturbing her. Wimbly decided that the tree needed more décor, Madam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm, you’re not disturbing me,” said Frida, trying very hard not to giggle at Wimbly’s bearded face. “It looks great, Mr. Wimbly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wimbly has set out a festive tea spread in the drawing room, Madam,” croaked Wimbly, looking rather proud of  himself. “If it pleases the Madam. The Young Master and the Lady of the House are there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mr. Wimbly,” said Frida, bowing her head in thanks to hide the grin that was threatening to give away her amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida hurried away from the scene and slipped into the drawing room, where she was immediately greeted by the soft melody of piano music. Tanya was seated at the far end of the room, smiling softly as she played a steady but soothing piece on their grand piano. Roger sat, not far away, on one of the couches in front of the fire with his back to her, apparently eating from the wide array of baked goods, fruit, and cured meats that Wimbly had filled the entire expanse of the long coffee table between two couches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Frida,” said Tanya softly, as if not to interrupt her own playing. “Please eat! We cannot possibly finish all of this food ourselves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” said Frida, blushing slightly as Roger glanced at Frida over his shoulder. She took a seat at the couch opposite Roger, as Tanya slowly transitioned into another melody. “Hi,” she said to Roger as she took a sandwich triangle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” said Roger with a smile. “Wimbly really went above and beyond, hasn’t he?” he said, gesturing to the feast before them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has,” said Frida, the memory of bearded-Wimbly slipping into the forefront of her mind. “Actually, I have a question for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” said Roger, leaning back in his seat, resting an arm lazily on the back of the couch and raising a dark eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Earth</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you all make Wimbly wear that ridiculous costume? Isn’t that a little degrading?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger’s eyes opened wide in surprise for a moment before he burst out laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said after a brief moment, “I had forgotten that he does that, somehow. That’s all him. We have a wide array of tea towels for the elves to use, in fact, Wimbly is in charge of ordering all kitchen materials, including the towels. He’s an eccentric one. He loves the holidays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who has them looking like Father Christmas and his minions?!” laughed Frida. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” said Roger, grinning with Frida. “Don’t tease him though, he’s very sensitive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course, I wouldn’t,” said Frida, who was suddenly aware of how long she had been returning Roger’s gaze and glanced away, still smirking to herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” said Roger, leaning forward to catch her eye once more, “Before you run off to the stables or greenhouse or wherever, I wanted to talk to you about something while I have you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger got to his feet and gestured to the spot next to Frida, “May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, er, yeah. Sure,” said Frida, as Roger walked around the coffee table to sit beside her. She had no idea what he was planning on saying, much less in the presence of his mother. She sat somewhat stiffly beside him, as he sat far closer to her than she had thought that he would. Her heart was beating a little too quickly, and her palms where clammy. Would he really bring up their night together in front of his mother? Maybe the piano music would be loud enough for them not to be overheard… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” said Roger, keeping his body respectfully forward facing as he turned his head to look at Frida. “Remember earlier I mentioned that I had to talk to my mother about a new charity that I wanted to start?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, so I actually came up with the idea because of you,” said Roger, his bright blue eyes lighting up as he spoke. “Since you’ve been spending so much time working in the greenhouse, it came to my mind just how many medicinal plants we have growing compared with how much of those materials actually goes into medicine making. Then I remembered how long your dad was in the hospital those years ago and something clicked! I was thinking that we could donate the extracted plant materials to St. Mungo’s Hospital. You, of course, would be under no obligation to make that happen, but considering that you have been working out there so much lately, I figured that you might be interested in helping.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow,” said Frida after a moment of collecting her thoughts. “That’s a great idea, actually! Especially since the plants have been more productive ever since I have been tending to them on a daily basis. What are you going to do once I leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, when you leave we can just hire a herbologist to take care of them,” said Roger. “You could always come back some days to work on it too if you had any interest. We would pay you, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be nice,” said Frida, starting to feel excited in spite of the butterflies that Roger’s close proximity and exhilarated gaze were giving her. “I’m definitely interested. Thanks for including me. It will be really nice for my work in the greenhouse to actually have some use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent,” said Roger, in a strangely low voice and with a thoughtful yet peculiar smile before getting to his feet. “I’ve got to arrange a few things in that case. I’ll see you later, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shot Frida a flirty smile before excusing himself from the drawing room, leaving Frida feeling quite pleased with herself. After a few minutes, Tanya joined her for some tea and a long chat about the Holiday parties that she used to hold at Witley. By the time they were done, Frida decided that she would rather go up for a bath than to go back out into the thick snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was immensely pleased with Roger’s project proposal and, perhaps even more so, at the tension that was building between the pair of them. Not knowing what would happen next, for a change, was actually quite exciting. She was sure something would happen soon, but the anticipation of what Roger might do kept Frida especially buoyant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night, Roger joined Frida in the conservatory for reading and hot cocoa, just like old times, except Frida caught him staring at her quite a few times. Instead of looking embarrassed about it however, he just smirked suggestively at her and continued on with his reading. Frida had wondered if, even hoped that, something more would come of it, but for days, then weeks, the same pattern continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger would look at her in ways that sent shivers down her spine, yet his speech and behavior was as normal as ever – except that he was distinctly less straight-laced sounding than he had been previously. She had even been so bold as to knock at his door one evening to “chat with him,” but he had graciously invited her in for tea and wished her good night afterwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida didn’t know why it was so hard to make another move on Roger now. She could perhaps have been more direct in initiating further romantic contact, but her daring seemed to have been lost since the night she had kissed him and dragged him to bed. She wondered what he was thinking in regards to that night, but didn’t dare ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was yet another snowy night when Frida washed up from working in the greenhouse that afternoon. The entire manor smelled of glazed ham and garlic as Wimbly and the elves prepared Christmas Eve dinner. She tried her best not to think of her family back at the cottage, as she felt a distinct pain from missing them, especially as owls with gifts from them poured in that afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The splendor of Witley was enough to distract for the most part, but Frida did feel rather bad that she had neither means or money with her to buy the Davies’ nor her parents anything for Christmas. She slipped on a shimmering satin set of crimson robes for dinner and headed down to the dining room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Frida, wait up!” Roger called from behind her. She turned and paused for him to catch up. He was wearing what appeared to be his best set of dress robes which clung to his broad shoulders in the most perfect way. “You look lovely tonight,” he said as he caught up with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t look too bad yourself,” said Frida, biting her lip and smiling up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like it when you wear your hair down,” said Roger from behind her as they walked, then he swept up her hair in both hands at the nape of her neck and released it so that it all hung neatly in the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, thanks,” said Frida, her neck suddenly feeling quite warm where he had touched it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger and Frida entered the dining room together where Tanya and Bert sat waiting. Frida couldn’t remember Bert in such high spirits; they all drank mulled wine with dinner and listened to Bert recount old Yule-tales that were traditional in his family. He was as pompous as ever, but at least he got through dinner and through pudding without a single sour look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, they all poured themselves large portions of eggnog and went their separate ways for their evening wind-down, as per usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” said Roger, quietly over Frida’s bare shoulder as they followed his parents out of the dining room, Tanya giggling drunkenly with her arm laced through Bert’s elbow. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for an answer, Roger took Frida by the hand and lead her the opposite direction towards the conservatory. The conservatory was debatably the most splendorous part of the house, even now that the manor was adorned bottom to top with Christmas décor. The ponds were glowing with ethereal light radiating from their rippling surfaces. Enchanted, false snow fell constantly from the glass ceiling, disappearing before it hit the floor. The floating plants above them were adorned with velvet ribbon, and the fairies glowed bright red and gold tonight. There were at least six Christmas trees packed in with the ferns and flowers, making the place look like a fairy glen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” asked Frida as Roger led her to their usual seats in the back of the conservatory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something for you,” said Roger sitting down beside her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a present?” asked Frida, “Oh no Roger, you really shouldn’t have. I don’t have anything to give back, seeing as I don’t have any way to – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, don’t worry,” said Roger, reaching out and gently squeezing Frida’s hand for a moment. “I wanted to. I know how things are for you right now, so I didn’t expect anything in return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” said Frida, after a moment of silence. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” said Roger, placing a package on her lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She untied the twine bow and gently tugged the snug top off of the box. Inside, there was a large book with a pair of leather, scaley gloves on top. She picked up the gloves and tried them on – they were lined with soft fluff and were quite warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dragonhide gloves,” said Roger, smiling. “They’re strong, so you can use them when you work in the greenhouse. Nothing should be able to damage them – or your hands for that matter. They go with your book – look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Frida picked up the book, which was incredibly heavy and bound in a dark leather with golden print on the cover, reading, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goshawk’s Guide to Herbology</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, Roger, thank you so much,” said Frida, her cheeks burning slightly as she looked up into his earnest eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One last thing,” said Roger, reaching into his pocket. “Can you stand up for a moment, so I can do this properly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, okay,” said Frida getting to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger opened a tiny box and turned it for Frida to see inside. It was a pair of tiny earrings; the studs had gleaming sliver pearls and a tear-dropped shaped sapphire hung off of each. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Roger,” gasped Frida, “I couldn’t possible accept this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would like it if you did,” said Roger quietly. “These were my grandmother’s. I’d like you to have them. They’ll suit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger…” said Frida, taken aback. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please?” said Roger in a low voice that gave Frida goosebumps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… Well… Thank you,” stammered Frida, her arms hanging limply at her sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger carefully took an earring from the box between his fingers and slightly bowed his head as he gently slipped it into Frida’s ear. He retrieved the other and repeated the process, as Frida held very still, feeling very aware of how close he was standing to her. She glanced up at his face, mere inches from hers as he focused on fastening the earring in its place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he had finished, he stood up straight, but didn’t back away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They look beautiful on you,” he said softly, pushing her hair behind her ear to see the earrings better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ought to have said something, but she couldn’t find words as she stared back into his deep blue eyes. He returned her gaze expectantly, but as the silence drew on, it was clear that he knew exactly what she was feeling. Slowly, he reached down and took her trembling hand in his and held it steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he redirected his gaze upwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Frida,” Roger whispered. She tilted her head back so she could see above her. A floating bunch of mistletoe had drifted directly above their heads when she wasn’t looking. Roger’s eyes darted back down to meet Frida’s with the tiniest smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said in a rough whisper. “Traditions, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He abruptly released her hand and slowly brought both hands to gently cup Frida’s jaw. He stared down into her eyes, his eyes flicking from one eye to the other. He licked his lips slowly and deliberately. Frida’s head was pounding with anticipation, her lips parted slightly, more than ready to take whatever he would give.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard him take a long, deep breath, and finally he leaned down, closing the distance between their lips. He kissed her agonizingly slowly and carefully, pausing to pull back slightly for a breathe. Frida moaned, grabbing the lapel of his dress robes and pulling him closer so that their bodies were pressed together. Her hands pressed into his firm chest as she flicked her tongue out to lick his soft, steadily moving lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her desire was steadily building in the pit of her stomach, but Roger’s kiss remained as maddeningly slow and soft as ever, even when she slipped her tongue through his parted lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Roger, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” sighed Frida after a minute of two of trying to get him to kiss her harder, to no avail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled away, with a very self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “Was it too much?” he asked in a slightly jibing voice. “Let’s sit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida’s head was spinning. She hardly could believe it when he pulled her into the seat next to him and laced his fingers through her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” breathed Frida, “No, I – ”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look beautiful in the earrings. Thank you for accepting them – it means a lot,” said Roger kissing Frida once on the back of the hand before getting to his feet. “You just relax and read your book, if you would like to. I’m going to speak to my parents quickly before turning in for the night. Good night, Frida. Happy Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida gaped at Roger’s back as he strode away from her and out of the conservatory doors, her heart still pounding. Nothing about the last ten minutes had been even remotely predictable. Moments ago she was finally locked in Roger’s embrace, and now she was alone to drink the rest of her eggnog and brood in silence. Frida hardly knew if Roger was playing some sort of game with her or if this was just the way he was, but he had her on the edge of her seat and he seemed to know it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed a long bath before bed to somewhat calm her nerves after Roger’s hot-and-cold behavior. He had certainly given her a lot to keep her mind busy at least, though he might inadvertently give her a heart attack if he kept it up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After wishing everyone in the family Happy Christmas at breakfast, Frida spent the rest of the morning in the quiet of the library going over the book that Roger had given her. It was certainly the most comprehensive Herbology book that she had yet gotten her hands on. She was particularly interested in the pruning and cultivating of hellebore for medicinal uses, as she recognized the book illustration of the plant from the greenhouse and was eager to try her hand at pruning it properly to encourage new flower growth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dropping by the kitchen for lunch with the elves, who were particularly enthusiastic that it was Christmas day, Frida crunched through the snow with her book and new dragonhide gloves. The gloves would come in handy for pruning back the dead, dry shoots from where the plant had been neglected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once in the greenhouse Frida shed her cloak, as it was always quite toasty inside, and it would just get in the way. The hellebore plants were in a cramped corner next to the mandrake seedlings. There were only about six plants, but according to the book, proper pruning would make them expand and bloom so that the flowers could be harvested and dried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about half an hour of snipping away at the dried and dead plants, Frida had filled an empty pot almost to the brim with clippings, and she was just about ready to start pruning the live plants when she heard the door creak open behind her at the other end of the greenhouse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy Christmas, Frida,” said Roger with a knowing smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy Christmas,” said Frida, shortly. “Thanks for the gloves by the way, they work great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s actually one of the reasons I came out here,” said Roger, slowly walking up to her. “I wanted to make sure the book and the gloves were working out well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are,” said Frida, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve got something else to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I do,” said Roger, quickly closing the distance between the two of them and pulling her into a feverish kiss. Frida’s clippers clattered to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His tongue was hot and sweet in her mouth, and his hands roamed hungrily about her body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he lifted her from the floor by her thighs and set her atop an empty worktable, kissing her hard with a hand tangled in her hair at the scalp. Frida’s hands found their way to below his waist and gripped his hardness. With a deep groan, Roger suddenly slipped his hand under her robes, up her thigh, and firmly placed a thumb directly onto her most sensitive point, making her gasp sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled back from their kiss for a moment, withdrew his hand from her robes, and slipped two fingers into his mouth and sucked audibly before replacing his hand and sliding his wet fingers inside her as he rubbed her on the outside with his thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida’s head fell back limply as he rhythmically slid his fingers inside of her, his arm wrapped around her back to support her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kept you waiting a while, didn’t I?” said Roger in a deep, husky voice into Frida’s ear. “You like that, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” sighed Frida, silencing him with a hot kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments, Roger’ stopped kissing and touching her, and leaned her back against the table so that she was lying on her back. Frida was so ready for whatever came next, but it still came to a surprise to her when his robes remained on and hers were flipped back to her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger bent down over her, pulled off her underwear, and lowered his head between her legs. Frida gasped loudly as he slid his tongue up and down in long strokes between her legs, gripping her thighs. He moaned loudly then increased his pace, his tongue pressed flat against her. She dug her fingers through this hair, her head swimming with pleasure. He kept on like that for what seemed like a long time, driving her closer to the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida moaned in slight frustration, so Roger flicked the tip of his clever tongue quickly over her and drove his fingers back inside of her, pumping them steadily into her until she felt herself close around him as she met her release. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a short moment, Roger pulled Frida upward and kissed her between gasping, labored breathes. Frida reached down to below his waist again, but he caught her wrist and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing her more slowly until he came to as stop and opened his sapphire-blue eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I loved that,” he whispered against her flushed lips, pulling her robes back down over her. They rested their foreheads together for a long while, until finally, Roger pulled away, caught her hand, and kissed it. “See you at dinner. Enjoy your plants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Roger</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” Frida said as he reached the door. He paused, waiting for her to expand, but she could hardly think of anything to say fast enough, so he just smiled at her and shut the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if Christmas dinner wouldn’t have been awkward enough having kissed Roger on Christmas Eve, but now, sitting down across from him at the most formal occasion of the year at Witley Court, Frida felt certain that her face must have told the truth of what had happened to everyone present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Roger tells me that you’ve been working quite diligently in the greenhouse lately,” said Tanya enthusiastically as they tucked into their Christmas pheasant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida glanced across the table at Roger and immediately wished that she hadn’t. He was giving her the most suggestive gaze. He raised his eyebrows at her and licked the sauce from a finger without breaking his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm,” said Frida, feeling hot all the way down to the breastbone. “Yeah, I, er, I have, yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida was feeling more than a little paranoid, and glanced down at Bert, whose shrewd eyes moved from Roger to Frida and back to Roger again. Frida gulped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh and how lovely, I see you are wearing the late Lady Davies’s earrings! They do suit you quite nicely – I was just telling Rog – ” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Slam!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone looked down at the end of the table where Bert sat. He had slammed both fists onto the table top, nearly knocking over the teetering candlesticks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert! What on earth – ” said Tanya after a moment of stunned silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bert held up a hand to silence, Tanya. She sat up very straight and narrowed her eyes with a fury that Frida had not seen her with before. Bert stood perfectly still, glaring down at the table, then suddenly and dramatically pointed a stiff finger directly at Roger before storming off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frida, Roger, and Tanya sat in silence for a long moment before Roger jumped to his feet and marched out of the dining room leaving Tanya and Frida alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Frida dear,” said Tanya, wringing her hands together, “I’m so terribly sorry that you had to see that. I don’t know what has gotten into him. Please, don’t let that ruin your meal. Let’s just enjoy the evening together – just us girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” said Frida quietly, her heart sinking. Whether Tanya was telling the truth about not knowing what Bert was angry about or not, Frida did not know, but she was fairly sure that she herself had a fair idea of what had set him off and it did not bode well for anyone. </span>
</p>
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